


The Weight of Truths (Like Bodies in Gallows)

by not_here_leave_a_message



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bellweather Unit Unity, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Redemption, F/F, Fluff and Angst, I think we've earned it., It's gonna be a long ride buckle up, Mamacostia, Ramsmaine BroTP, Redemption, Sequel, Slow Burn, There actually is fluff in this if you can actually believe that., This is the one where they actually get together, and internal conflict, so much yearning, the slowest of slow burns in the history of slow burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 94,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26304730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_here_leave_a_message/pseuds/not_here_leave_a_message
Summary: Six months after returning to Fort Salem from her stint at Cotton Mather Detention Camp, Raelle's palm won't stop burning and she can't stop thinking about a certain, special detainee that she left back in that prison.  Despite that, life moves on, and the Bellweather unit is selected for a recon/intelligence mission observing a Spree stronghold in the middle of nowhere.Meanwhile, Scylla Ramshorn has been on a mission of her own: a mission involving a secret alliance that has now set its sights on the Bellweather unit.  Set on a collision course, it's only a matter of time before Raelle and Scylla are reunited, and truths are revealed.Sequel to "The Weight of Lies (Heavy Like Stones)".
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 397
Kudos: 450





	1. Southern Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello again! Did you miss me? I say as it's been like four days... ;)
> 
> Anyway! It's the sequel!! If you're new here, this fic is the sequel to my other fic, "The Weight of Lies (Heavy Like Stones)". I do recommend you read that before you read this, just because like half of it heavily relies on that story, and the other half makes frequent references to it. Also like...this is a slow burn, if you want to elongate your torture (and I know you do), and if you want the full payoff, then definitely read that fic first. Like...I can't force you, but I do think it would be to your benefit in the long run...
> 
> Also, as of this fic, we've left behind any semblance to the Camp X-Ray film: this is pretty much entirely independent from that, excepting the premise of Cotton Mather as a whole, etc.
> 
> Like with the previous fic, I'm thinking of updating this one twice a week. That being said, I am moving house in about a week and a half, and that may mess up the uploading schedule for a while, just while I adjust to all the changes that's going to entail.
> 
> As promised, this fic will involve longer chapters. Which is why there are 24 of them despite the fic being basically twice as long as "The Weight of Lies". Also, as with that fic, I don't own anything, I've edited this fic like crazy but it is unbetad so any mistakes are my own. Also, I think I mentioned it already, but you guys can all take a breath: this fic is complete. The whole thing is written.
> 
> No major warnings pretty much at all for this fic. Let's start this new journey!

Her palm burned. 

Raelle didn’t like it. It itched and nothing she tried ever soothed it, and she had tried a lot of things. Sometimes, the S was visible: angry and red and pulsing in time to her heartbeat, raised welts like tiny, irritating mushroom caps. Other times, the mark burned but didn’t present itself, which Raelle almost believed was for the best: at least, without having the mark obviously present, she could bullshit her way through an explanation to Fixers if they asked her about where she got it or what, exactly, it was. 

And they did ask. She had been to see many a healing professional about it. She’d even asked Abigail and Tally for help with alleviating the pain when it flared up unexpectedly. And though they weren’t as skilled as Raelle with healing, they’d tried their best to link with her to try and divert the sensations. Alas, apparently, neither of them could even locate its source, and thus alleviating it was impossible.

The medics had similar issues. 

Raelle never said where she got the burning sensation from: just that it was in her palm. Still, she supposed it was obvious from the inability to find the pain source that the mark was of magical origin. But she didn’t exactly want to just sit down and say “Oh yes, a terrorist magically marked me without my consent so that she could talk to me through concrete walls”. Partly because she didn’t feel like confessing that she’d been so thoroughly had by a detainee at the military’s supposedly highest-security prison, but also, if she was completely honest with herself…a part of her didn’t feel like ratting Scylla out. Despite the seemingly permanent and painful work Scylla had left her to deal with…she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Raelle’d tried salves, medicinal compounds – concoctions that she always jokingly called “potions” despite apparently being a word that the military didn’t appreciate (“It furthers witch stereotypes!”) – and she’d even tried a few of her mother’s more powerful bits of work. She tried regular old lotion too, but at the end of the day, the burning was always temporary and always left on its own: regardless of any treatments she tried.

It’d been coming, on and off, since her time at Cotton Mather had ended. She didn’t like it…but she didn’t hate it, either. At least with it, she knew that Scylla was more than likely alive. Raelle wasn’t entirely sure how it worked: she’d never seen work like it and none of her research – conducted entirely in secret – had yielded any results whatsoever. As far as she could tell…Scylla hadn’t been lying when she said it was something of her own invention. 

Which was…impressive and honestly a little scary. And it made Raelle’s head hurt to think too much about Scylla as it were, let alone the things the woman was apparently capable of. 

Despite that, she found herself doing it with alarming frequency. 

The palm wasn’t exactly helping her to forget, at any rate. 

She itched at it absentmindedly as her unit piled into the helicopter with her, strapping in bags and pulling on flight helmets. 

“Burning?” Abigail asked, spotting Raelle’s uncomfortable grimace and scratching fingers. 

“Yeah,”

“I would say ‘you should get that check out’, but like…you have. Maybe just chop the hand off?” Abigail asked with a shrug.

Raelle rolled her eyes, “Har har,”

“Seriously, no one can figure out what that is?” Tally asked, strapping it into the side of the chopper, before doing the same with herself in her seat. 

“Nope,” Raelle said quietly. “I mean, I know what it’s from, at least. I just don’t know how to stop it,”

“So you just get to suffer,” Abigail said, also strapping herself into her seat. 

“I do that enough with you already,” Raelle shot back, smirking, and Abigail burst out laughing. 

“Watch it, Collar!” she tried to sound threatening, but failed, and Tally rolled her eyes at them both.

“I’m going to ignore you two,” she said flatly, pulling a book from her secured rucksack.

“You literally can’t, Tal, it’s nearly a four hour ride and we’re literally right next to each other,” Abigail mocked, and Tally did her best to pretend not to hear her unit-mate, though a small smile broke her façade. 

Raelle couldn’t help but smile, too. She’d missed her unit during her time at Cotton Mather. They’d managed not to get themselves into too much trouble, though Tally had been caught snooping the archives (apparently on more than one occasion), and Abigail had nearly blasted an entire filing cabinet when she couldn’t get the seed right to open it. 

Otherwise (according to them, at least), her absence had been smooth sailing. Tally was pretty mum about what she was doing in military archives, but Raelle had a sneaking suspicion that it was nothing good. She never dared to ask, either. Tally would tell her, she knew, but that…that could be dangerous. Judging by the new fire in Tally’s eyes, it would be best to let sleeping dogs lie. 

And now, they were all being deployed together. She had spent about six months back at Fort Salem, reintegrating herself as a Specialist and all that entailed, as well as finding herself on paper duty, which was honestly a relief after Guard Duty at Cotton Mather, when her unit had been handed their new assignment (thankfully, as an actual unit this time). 

It was a recon/intelligence mission, which sounded easy enough, and they were one of several units assigned to the task, which was also nice: strength in numbers. Much like Raelle’s Cotton Mather stint, they’d been given short notice before their new assignment, and had been shipped out within forty-eight hours to Fort Laveau, just outside of New Orleans. 

Really, Raelle had missed the Southern heat. It was heavy but there was something heady about it…magical, really. She’d never really been to many places outside of where she’d grown up, but the South was the South, and stepping off of the chopper into the heat had felt like coming home. Certainly more for her than for Tally or Abigail, one from Northern Cali and the other who “summered in Maryland”. Neither were prepared for the Southern humidity, but Raelle felt like she could breathe again. 

Fort Laveau was smaller than Fort Salem, with a more welcoming layout and surrounded by bog, which…talk about witch stereotypes. Raelle loved it (though she would have hated to have trained for basic in it, honestly), and they got to spend a week on the base, getting to know the units that would be deployed with them and receiving a briefing of their mission: nothing too crazy, but there had been some kind of suspicious activity north of their position, and it had been happening, on and off, for some months. 

Apparently, theirs weren’t the first group to be sent out to the area, but others before them had been known to…disappear. 

It was a suspected Spree hotspot, but they needed surveillance and confirmation, so their mission was just that: to be brought to a secret location to get their helicopters and then flown and dropped some ways outside of the target area, trek their way there, settle in for some time for observations, report their findings nightly, and then, with any luck…be the first group to make it back. 

It didn’t sound difficult, but Raelle would be lying if she said it sounded safe. 

Their commanding officer for the mission, Maelstrom Berg, was a tall and sharp-featured woman that reminded Raelle a bit of Alder. Despite that, she seemed nice enough, so Realle and the entire Bellweather unit tried not to fault Berg for her resemblance to the General. 

The drops would be at different times, to help avoid detection, with a specific location for all the units to meet up at. They were using smaller helicopters, as well, which was why the Bellweather unit got one all to themselves. 

Raelle, if she was entirely honest, also liked to think it was because Tally was known to be a gifted Seer, so they got a bit of special treatment, but she knew that every unit recruited for the job had talented Seers on them: that was, after all, the point of the mission. 

Still, she knew Tally was gifted beyond measure, and she couldn’t help the small, fond smile she could feel on her face as she looked at her unit. 

A searing pain made Raelle yelp as she looked down at her palm, startled as the red welts reared up, harsh and bright. 

Abigail whistled, “Damn, that doesn’t look good at all,”

“Shut up, Abigail,” Raelle muttered, inspecting the mark. 

Her unit had seen the mark once before, which had been cause for an…interesting conversation. In the end, she’d told them that she’d gotten it in an interrogation accident, which wasn’t entirely a lie. But she didn’t know how to really tell her unit about Scylla. About Detainee Thirteen. About…everything that had transpired between them. And how could she? Her unit would think she’d lost her goddamned mind if she told them she’d let a terrorist get into her head. 

So she sort of…hadn’t really said anything. She’d told them some of it, of course. And she had no doubt that they’d put two and two together that she’d gotten the mark during literally her only interrogation, but they hadn’t pushed, perhaps sensing she didn’t know how to tell them. Or what to tell them. How much she could divulge. 

She sort of hated that they had to have that barrier there, and that they all just accepted that that was the way of the military. They’d never been like that before, in Basic and in War College, but that was before they’d ever even been split up. They’d always been able to share everything, and it annoyed Raelle that she felt like she couldn’t, now. 

“Looks painful,” Tally said, furrowing her brow with genuine concern. 

Raelle hissed as the pulsing started, “It is painful, Tal,” she said through clenched teeth. 

“Everything okay, ladies?” their pilot called over the coms.

“Fine,” Raelle managed, cradling her palm and trying to take deep breaths, the pain already starting to subside. 

That had been…strong. She didn’t understand how the damn mark worked and she didn’t appreciate that it was painful. Inconsistently so. Sometimes, it burned. Other times, it felt like someone tracing a feather over her palm. Still others, she only noticed it because of the sudden pulsing in her hand, and nothing else. 

She wondered if Scylla had any control over it, or if the mark just reacted to her own state of mind? Was she in pain? Was she being tortured or interrogated (was there a difference)? Is that why her damn palm hurt so badly? 

She shook it out as, finally, the pain subsided. 

“We’re good for take-off, confirm safety belts,”

“Confirmed,” Tally and Abigail said, and Raelle muttered it as well. 

“That’s a go, hang on ladies, we’re off. Approximate time of arrival, 18:15. Comms to flight mode,”

“Over and out,” they all confirmed, flipping the comms on their helmets as the chopper started to shake, the rotors starting up. 

And just like that, they were in the air: the last of the units to be deployed, they would be the last ones to arrive, too. They were being dropped the closest to the meeting point, and they would all trek from there to meet up with the other units. 

Raelle let her head lull back (as far as she could, given the straight-back of her seat) and watched the mark start to fade, and with it, the last of the pain. 

“You should really get that looked at again, if the flare ups keep getting worse,” Tally said, worried. 

Raelle nodded, pursing her lips, “Yeah, I should, but by the time the medics get a chance to look at it, the flare-ups are gone. They’ll just end up assigning me for a psych eval and god knows how long they’d keep me for that. You guys want paper duty all over again?”

“Fuck no,” Abigail whined, and Tally elbowed her. “What?! I’m sorry Raelle, but paper duty was torture,”

“I liked it,” Tally muttered. 

“You liked having an excuse for your secret project. The rest of us actually had to do filing, Tal. You’re welcome for covering, by the way,”

Tally rolled her eyes but smiled fondly at Abigail, “I did say thank you. Multiple times, in fact,”

“And I’m just saying: you’re welcome. Again,” Abigail smiled affectionately and nudged Tally lightly. 

Raelle smiled tiredly at them, letting the sound of the rotors and their casual bickering lull her as the last remnant of pain stopped in her palm. God, she loved them, truly. She shut her eyes but listened to them, unable to be entirely comfortable with her seating position and the shaking of the chopper as they flew through the air.

\---

_Scylla liked the Cession. The people were friendly there. Life was simpler: people relied on each other because they had to, as there was hardly any government presence. People were poor but shared what few resources they had because of it, and Scylla liked that. She liked that reminder that not everyone was bad._

_She also liked the nature. Rolling plains, fertile hills, green everywhere. Meadows and forests and even mountains, though the mountains were actually just outside of the Cession. But, as they were passing through them, she knew they were on their way to the Cession, and she was excited for that._

_Life on the run wasn’t easy: she couldn’t make friends, couldn’t be honest about herself: couldn’t form lasting connections with anyone besides her parents and sometimes, a few of their hosts. She couldn’t have a lot of things because half the time, they just got left behind anyway. She had the clothes on her body, supplies in her backpack, and even a few toys she’d made herself when she was younger and that she sometimes bartered for other things, like books, which made up the majority of what she kept her backpack. Clothes, books, and a few days’ worth of some sort of dried food: usually nuts, jerky, and raisins, but sometimes, they got lucky. In Georgia, the last time they’d been there, their temporary hosts had given them dried peaches before sending them on their way._

_They’d tasted amazing, and Scylla had tried to ration them as best she could, knowing that she likely wouldn’t get to have them again for a good long while. They’d ended up getting moldy, which was a shame, but Scylla had tried to make the best of it: trying to do some work with the mold as best she could, pleased with her abilities._

_She learned most of what she knew in the Cession. Many of their hosts were Natives: the last time, they’d stayed with members of the Ho-Chunk tribe, and their hosts had graciously agreed to show her some of their work. It was nice, honestly, to sit there and learn. Her parents hardly let her practice any kind of magic, lest it be detected, but in the Cession, they were a little more relaxed about it. In the Cession, they felt a bit more like they could all breathe; because people in the Cession understood how hard life was, especially trying to survive an omnipotent power that sought to annihilate them._

_She’d gotten really good at seedless work, which was handy, and her parents didn’t even realize she could do it. It wasn’t a lot, just small things, like coaxing the mold on her peaches to grow and hearing the whispers of the earth beneath her at night: worms and death and life, all combined into one, beckoning her._

_Sometimes, she wondered if she should join the military. Not because she wanted to: she knew what fate awaited her there. Rather, because she wanted to learn. She was Necro, which she and her parents had discovered early on. It was apparently a thing in their bloodline, but even still quite rare. Her great-grandmother had apparently been a powerful practitioner of Maleficium, working to help create some of the horror stories that came out of the woods in the North East. Neither of her parents could do what Scylla could do, though she suspected they had some talent in Necro (her mother especially), but had never been allowed to properly practice nor learn. Her father seemed to have no specialization, but a good, general knowledge in all of the branches of work. It came with always having to be on the run: one was constantly borrowing from all disciplines of work, to try to keep ahead of the military._

_But the military did have valuable educational opportunities for her, which was the only reason she’d bothered to entertain the idea. She’d seen, on grainy camera footage, or in stories relayed by hosts, all that the military was capable of. The destruction. The devastation. Storm and fury and work beyond her wildest dreams, and a part of her wanted to know that power. A part of her that she resented, but couldn’t quite shake._

_Her parents…didn’t hate the military, per se. But they’d made sure to drill into her how unfair conscription truly was: neither of them wanted to be pulled into an institution where they were made to kill others. Which was why, Scylla suspected, they hadn’t joined up with Spree, either. Beyond the scope of Spree members helping them hide, they didn’t ever deal with them._

_Her parents were pacifists, which sort of irked her sometimes. It was unjust, it was unfair, but they didn’t want trouble, and she didn’t want trouble for them, so she swallowed down her own thoughts, and followed them wherever they went._

_Their newest safe house, on their trek back to the Cession, was in the middle of Appalachia, in the dense forests of the Smoky Mountains, and the sound of nature was soothing to her, calming the storm that had started to rage inside of her._

_She was tired of running. She was tired of never having roots. Of never having a home. She was sick of always having to look over her shoulder, and of her parents’ insistence that they could do nothing but keep running._

_Her parents were good people._

_Scylla had started to accept that maybe she wasn’t. There was a darkness to her that had started to bloom. Being Necro explained part of it: death had always fascinated her, and once she realized her inherent connection to it, it made sense that the macabre had never felt all that macabre to her. It just felt…natural. The most real thing out there was the horror of the unknown, the ending of the self that was death, and rebirth of what was the self to create a new self, entirely unconscious of its former being. The chaos of it all was a balm to her: soothing in its inherent destruction and rebirth._

_But the darkness only grew as she aged, and she found herself more and more restless with it. More and more upset that she didn’t have a say in any of this: in her parents on the run. In the military hunting them. In not being able to fight back: always moving, never planting themselves and facing their adversary and saying “I am here, and I will not budge”._

_It irked her, but sometimes, she could push it down, and just be excited about a new place. Or, in this case: about returning to an old one._

_The fire tower had been abandoned long before their first trip there several years before. They still remembered how to arrive and how to enter into the underground compound. Her parents did the work of opening the entrance with a secret seed, and Scylla watched from the sidelines, fiddling with her backpack._

_They would be staying there for a week, maybe two, to hunt and resupply their food stocks before continuing onward towards Nashville, where they were meeting a coyote to bring them to where they were heading in the Cession._

_The ground opened below them and Scylla dropped in behind her parents, enjoying the cool subterranean scent as it hit her, full-force. This was what being buried felt like, and Scylla took comfort in it, running her fingers along the concrete wall of the compound: just beyond it, life and death teemed together as one._

_She smiled to herself as they settled in._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the first chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed! It's a bit of a different format but, honestly...in asking myself how to write a redemption arc for an act as unforgivable as mass-murder, I realized that I'd really have to show things from Scylla's perspective...from the beginning.
> 
> Also like, another thing of note: the Ho-Chunk are a real tribe that exist. Based on their current and past land holdings (according to Wikipedia), they would be one of various Native populations that Scylla's family would have run into in the general area of the central parts in the Cession.
> 
> Also, I know that technically New Orleans would be in the Cession (based on the map they show us in the MFS intro) but they haven't said that military bases couldn't be in the Cession in canon so ssshhhhh we'll let it slide. If not, we'll say that it's technically right on the border. ;)
> 
> Anyway, drop a line if you liked it, I hope you guys like this story as much as you enjoyed the last one!


	2. Wrecked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all you lovely people! Back with an update for you all!
> 
> No warnings really apply except, I guess, a brief mention of torture? But nothing compared to the linking chapter from the last fic, so like, not really a warning. I find that whenever I write Scylla I end up making her a bit darker than the canon version but I guess it's just because...I don't know, I feel like having a mass-murder be the first-ever attack or assignment that Scylla had with Spree is just unrealistic. Like...the desensitization that takes, to be okay with killing that many people?? I adore Scylla in all of her murderous glory but it just makes more sense (to me) that she had some desensitization before that attack. 
> 
> That said I do think, in her grief and rage, she would have been fully capable of murder even before Spree, so that ended up being explored a little here. 
> 
> Anyway, enough blabbing haha, hope you enjoy the chapter!

She must have fallen asleep, despite not thinking it possible, and awoke to see Abigail also looking like she was asleep, and Tally reading her book in her lap.

“How long was I out?” Raelle asked, straightening in her seat.

“Not long, bit over two hours,” Tally murmured, flipping the page. 

“Most peaceful two hours of my life,” Abigail muttered. 

Raelle rolled her eyes as Abigail cracked one open, smirking. 

The smirk dropped with the sharp and shrill sound of an alarm, the chopper shaking violently, Tally’s book flying off her lap. 

“Bellweather unit, come in,” the pilot’s voice rang over the blaring of what seemed to be multiple alarms. Raelle braced herself as the chopper continued to shake. 

“Copy,” Abigail shouted, serious. “What the hell was that?!”

“No idea, but I’m reading multiple instrument failure, prepare for evacuation protocol, hatch opens in ten,”

“Ten?!” Abigail shouted, already unbuckling herself, Tally doing the same and Raelle fumbling to make quick work of her own restraints. 

“It’s the longest I can hold her steady, hatch in nine, eight,”

“Shit,” Tally grabbed her pack and yanked her little tin of salva out. Raelle reached for hers as well, trying to keep steady despite all the noise and pitching of the chopper. 

“Five, four, three-”

The drop hatch opened beneath them and Raelle sucked in a breath as the air pressure around them changed, wind whipping into the belly of the chopper. 

“One!” 

Raelle stuck the salva on and jumped, looking quickly over to her unit so as to not lose them on the way down. 

She glanced up as a loud bang resounded, shocked to find smoke billowing out of the chopper as it started to pitch dangerously left, then right as the pilot tried to overcorrect. It caused a tailspin, and she watched in horror as it started to fall to the ground. It fell into a spiral and started to roll, ejecting everything from the open belly, including, from what she could see: the pilot. 

The salva kicked in, and she tore her gaze away, quickly taking in her surroundings. They were in the middle of…fucking nowhere. She saw nothing but trees and mountains, and she knew immediately: they were smack-dab in the middle of Appalachia. 

Fuck. Landing from a sudden drop was hard enough, but landing without being impaled? Goddess protect… 

She glanced around quickly, spotting a small clearing. She looked up and located Tally not too far to her left, and Abigail a slight distance off to her right, but she indicated the clearing below her and watched as they all started aiming for the same spot, coming in a little too hot for the landing. Raelle felt her knees buckle as she hit the ground a little too hard, but corrected quickly and managed to only trip over herself once before landing with a rough roll. 

Not her best landing, but considering the circumstances…

She looked up from the dirt of the clearing, seeing her unit in much the same position, but no one wailing in pain, which was good. Considerably better than their performance at City Drop: at least Tally hadn’t broken her leg this time. 

The ground shook beneath her, and she shuddered as, a moment later, a roaring crunch reached them: the sound of metal crumpling against solid earth. 

Raelle winced but pushed herself off of the underbrush, standing, gravity returning full-force and her pack suddenly feeling the full fifty pounds it was. She groaned to herself, unfastening it from her shoulders and letting it drop, before dropping down herself into a seated position. No need to stay standing, and they had to get their bearings, and honestly…her knees hurt. 

She watched as Tally and Abigail stayed on their feet, shielding their eyes in the late afternoon summer sun as it filtered through the trees. 

“Well…” Tally started, after a moment of silence that stretched between them for far too long. “That…happened…”

“Yeah, fuck,” Abigail said, scrunching up her features as she looked around. “What the fuck,”

Raelle blinked. What the fuck indeed…

“Well now what the fuck do we do?!” Abigail shouted, and her voice echoed off the trees. 

“We take a second,” Raelle mumbled, and both Tally and Abigail looked at her. 

Raelle nodded, unclasping her helmet and throwing it to the ground next to her. “I grew up on the edge of Appalachia, guys, and we’re in the thick of it, here. I’m sure you saw,” she muttered sarcastically, “First rule of the woods: don’t panic. First rule of the military, too. I don’t know about you two,” Raelle swallowed, taking stock of herself. Her heart was racing: far harder than she’d noticed before, her pulse thundering in her ears. Her hands were shaking, even where she had them rested on her legs. Adrenaline was singing in her veins and, she had no doubt: if she weren’t sat on the ground, she’d probably feel dizzy. 

She didn’t know how the others were still standing, honestly.

“-I don’t know about you two,” she started again, “but I am definitely this close,” she held up a hand, squeezing her fingers close together, “to panicking. So maybe. We take a minute, okay?”

They stared at her dumbly for a moment, before Tally nodded her agreement, and quietly sat herself down as well. Abigail huffed and elected not to sit, instead starting to pace, which was fine. Raelle focused entirely on herself, trying to get her breathing regulated and push down the fight or flight response that was right at the point of spiraling out of control. 

They sat like that for some time, but Raelle didn’t bother to keep track of how long because she just needed to let herself calm down. 

“We should figure out where we are,” Raelle finally ended up saying, which caused Tally to look up, and Abigail to stop her pacing. “We should figure out where we are and what we have and if we can still make the meeting point, or if we have any way of communicating with the other units,”

“We should go and find the helicopter, too,” Abigail said suddenly, and both Raelle and Tally turned to her. She nodded decisively, “If there’s anything we can salvage from it, we should check. Comms, supplies, hell even first aid kits or scrap,”

Raelle and Tally exchanged a look, but both nodded in agreement. 

“Okay, so,” Tally said, “first thing’s first-”

“Can any of us try communicating with Berg?” Abigail blurted, interrupting. 

Tally shook her head. “We can try, but we’re not supposed to. Mentally linking over that great of a distance can be detected. We wouldn’t want to blow their cover,”

“They need to know we’re alive, though,” Abigail argued. 

Raelle felt a headache coming on and rubbed her temples. “What about one of us trying Quartermaine? 

Abigail nodded, “Or I could try my mom, I-”

“I don’t think we should risk it,” Tally interrupted, “I really don’t. Even if we managed to get through undetected, our superiors would still have to contact Berg. It would be too much of a risk, even radio comms are up there with being too much, remember?” Tally worried at her lip as Abigail let out a low, frustrated noise. 

“Fucking-fuck!” she shouted, cursing at the sky. 

Raelle couldn’t help but look up at it and silently curse it, too.

“Okay, well, then. First thing’s first, in that case: we find the chopper, and we set up shelter. When’s sundown?”

“20:43,” Raelle said quietly, struck by the fact that she actually remembered that from the weather report that morning. 

“Okay, good, that gives us some time,” Abigail nodded, looking quickly at her watch. “Let’s go,”

She turned, and since she’d never bothered to take off her backpack, started immediately in the direction of the smoke they could see billowing up into the sky. 

Raelle groaned as Tally pushed herself off the ground, hastily strapping on her own pack, and Raelle did the same, following a few paces behind them.

\---

_Scylla couldn’t cry, and she wondered if that meant that something was wrong with her. The only thing that consumed her was…rage. It burned hotter than the fire that had devoured her parents and their safe house, now nothing but ash before her._

_It hurt. It felt like a physical being inside of her, too big to be contained by her skin, too loud to be torn from her throat, too dark to exist within her. She couldn’t do anything but breathe, hard and fast, watching the last of the smoke and sparks wisp away into the night. All she could taste was ash, all she could hear was her heart beat, roaring, and the echo of screams of flames as they had eaten everything in their path. The earth pulsed around her, and her hands shook and she bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood, and the only thing that she could think was: good._

_Good. She was alive. And they weren’t. Her pacifist parents hadn’t fought back. Had tried to surrender themselves. And they’d been murdered before her very eyes. She curled her fingers into fists. They’d done nothing wrong, and now they were gone. They’d done everything right, kept themselves hidden. They’d been so careful, and they’d died anyway._

_For what?_

_Oh, she was alive, alright. And her parents weren’t, and the military was still out there, hunting others. Sentencing others to deaths undeserved._

_She felt her fingernails dig into her palms and willed her skin to break._

_She would be their reckoning._

_She would rain destruction on the military, if it was the last thing she did._

_And she would burn everyone in her path._

_They wanted her so bad?_

_They would have her. They could take her and swallow her whole, and she would make them choke._

\---

The chopper was toast. Raelle knew from the sheer amount of smoke, even though it had dissipated to nearly nothing by the time they reached the crash site. All that greeted them was a mangled mess of blackened metal, and Raelle watched as Abigail’s bravado left her, her shoulders slumping.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

Tally looked over the wreckage, “Maybe we should still take a look? See if anything’s left?” she stopped, suddenly straightening, eyes sharp. “We’re not alone, someone else is here,”

Raelle and Abigail immediately stiffened, both shifting automatically into more of a fighting stance. 

“In the wreckage, but they’re alive. It’s-”

A head popped up, then, amongst the blackened and charred bits of helicopter. The guy ran a frustrated hand through his hair just as Abigail shouted, “Hey!”

The man swiveled, startled. He blinked.

“Identify yourself!” Abigail ordered, and he held up his hands. 

“Warrant Officer Porter Tippit, Rotary Aircraft Captain First Class, New Orleans F10 Aviators Regimen,” he called back, and Abigail visibly relaxed. “And you?”

“Bellweather Unit,” she said back, and the pilot nodded.

“Glad you guys made it down safe,”

“You too,” Raelle called, remembering having seen the pilot being ejected from the craft. 

“And glad you’ve come to me, makes it far easier than me having to find you,” the pilot, Porter, came around to the front of the totaled aircraft and headed towards them. “I didn’t get a chance to see where you guys would end up. Figured before anything else, I should check to see if something could be salvaged,”

“Same,” Abigail confessed, and he nodded. 

“I’m afraid it’s kind of a bust. Comms are fried and all supplies got burnt to a crisp. The explosion set off all of the flares. Even the blackbox is torn to all hell,” Porter shook his head, “I’m…I have no idea what happened. One minute, smooth sailing, the next-”

“The next we have a ten-second warning to drop, yeah,” Abigail cut him off, and Porter sighed. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Porter winced, “Genuinely. I just…this wasn’t supposed to happen.” He indicated the wreck, “I couldn’t even get my pack. Have any of you tried communicating with Berg or any other higher ups?”

Tally shook her head, “No, we’re under strict orders to not do that,”

“I wanted to try it anyway,” Abigail piped up, and Raelle rolled her eyes. 

“I mean, you’re welcome to try. I tried to get ahold of Colonel Morningstar, but I was blocked? I haven’t been able to communicate with anyone,”

Raelle pursed her lips. Blocks were…odd, and hard to create, let alone sustain. If links were being blocked, then perhaps they were closer to enemy territory than they thought…

“Blocked?” Abigail asked, incredulous, and Porter nodded. 

“I couldn’t form a link. If you guys wanna try, though-” but it was too late, Abigail had already shut her eyes and Raelle could hear the seed low in her throat. She stopped a moment later, opening her eyes in disbelief.

“It’s…I can’t do it,” she sounded dumbfounded. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tally said, alarmed, “We’re not supposed to be that close to the mark, where they would have a block in place, we-”

She trailed off, and everyone just sort of stared at each other for a moment, absorbing the fact that, at least in that moment…they were truly on their own. And very possibly…on enemy territory.

“Right, okay. So, no comms, no way to communicate, and nothing but the packs on our backs. Great,” Abigail nodded to herself, and Raelle stepped forward, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said quietly, sensing the nervous energy radiating off of her unit-mate. 

“I mean, they have to know that we’re here, right? Just from radio communications before this happened-” Tally started, hopeful, and Porter shook his head.

“This operation was strictly fly by sight: it was considered too dangerous to do anything else, in case Spree intercepted it. They’ve already had so much trouble with the area that I know they thought that was safest-”

Abigail let out a frustrated groan as Tally’s face dropped. 

“But, I mean, it’s not all bad, if you guys have a map? Mine, uh…” Porter pointed to the wreckage, “Sort of got burnt to a crisp. But I think maybe, we can figure out our next steps that way?”

Tally nodded, dropping the pack from her back and rummaging through the pockets, eventually pulling out her map: a topographical map of the area that they’d been given during their briefing for the mission. She crouched on the ground, laying the map out, and Porter came over and kneeled next to her.

A small light unfurled itself over their location as Tally sang a quick locating seed to summon it.

“Okay, so according to this, we’re…”

“In the middle of goddess-forsaken nowhere,” Abigail muttered, and well…she wasn’t wrong. They were definitely way too far away from the meet up point to have any hope of reaching it on foot: at least, not for a few days, or possibly even a week.

Which didn’t seem…right, but Raelle shook the thought from her mind: they had more pressing matters. Even if, per their map and the trajectory they’d been given at briefing, they had been fairly far off-course…

Pointedly ignoring Abigail’s outburst, Porter pointed out the obvious: “Okay, good, so we’re here.” He squinted at the map, and Raelle and Abigail hovered over him, peering over his shoulder. “I think…yes. There,” he pointed to a spot on the map, like any other except for a small “x” that could be easily missed, unless someone was looking for it. “That’s a fire tower. They built them ages ago, during the Great Draught. Probably a few days’ hike east of here,” Porter nodded to himself, as though affirming the calculation in his head, “But we can make it. Fire towers need to have working comms, per federal regulations, no matter how old they are. If we make it there, we can at least let our superiors know we’re safe, even if we can’t do anything else. They’d have to take it from there, but likely, they’d be able to at least schedule an extraction,”

He looked at them, then, as though waiting for approval for the plan. 

Raelle wasn’t necessarily looking forward to trekking for several days in the woods, but what other option did they have, really? The smoke from the helicopter was nearly entirely dissipated, and they had no other means, apparently, of communication. They were stuck. 

“I mean, what choice do we have?” she said finally, and both Tally and Abigail nodded in agreement. 

Porter agreed solemnly, “Then that’s where we head,”

\---

_She had blood on her hands, literally. She couldn’t get to it under her nails, and some sick part of her didn’t want to. It could serve as a macabre souvenir. She felt a chill run down her spine every time she caught sight of the dark gore, rust in the shape of small crescent moons._

_She’d washed her hands, at first passively and then desperately, watching the blood slowly come off. She had it on her clothes, too. No one had noticed her sneaking out of the woods behind the gas station, whispering a quiet seed and with shaking hands, tracing an unlocking rune onto what was the bathroom. She knew from when she’d first arrived in town, and had started planning her escape route._

_The door gave way and she’d quickly locked it, breathing heavy and fast. Adrenaline was still pumping in her system, heat of fire still at her back, the blood of three military police officers splashed on her face and in her hair and on her hands and on her clothes. They weren’t the ones who killed her parents, but truly, she couldn’t bring herself to care._

_She had spare clothes. She reminded herself of that as she pulled off her soiled ones, shoving them into the sink before she washed what she could of the blood off of her body, leaving the nails because she didn’t want to forget her moment of…triumph? Victory? Pure hatred?_

_She didn’t know what to call it._

_The thought of it all had bile rising in her throat and had she eaten anything, she had no doubt she would have vomited, but she’d forced it down, forced it all down: the shakes, the panic, the fear and the odd elation. Everything inside of her was turmoil and she desperately sought that odd, muted calm she’d had for the last three days. Desensitized, screams muffled in her ears, shouts like whispers, pain that echoed her own and made her feel…drunk. Finally, someone else felt what she felt all the time. Others had been made to suffer as she did._

_But that calm was gone, and in its place was sheer panic, realization like a sharp and hot blade in her gut. She’d done that. She’d done…she’d done horrible things to those people. Unspeakable things, and the thought brought tears to her eyes that she forcefully shoved down, biting down on her hand to keep a sob from escaping._

_She hadn’t thought she’d be able to do it, but she had. She had, and part of her felt lighter than air. The other?_

_Like she was suffocating, rope around her neck like in the gallows she’d surely be sent to if she was ever caught._

_She shoved it all aside, because she had a bus to catch and she couldn’t look like the absolute wreck she was in that moment, so she’d collected herself, methodically cleaned herself up, slipped into her new clothes, and set her old ones on fire using her lighter in the cramped bathroom sink._

_Then she left, new clothes, wet hair, backpack on her back, and the only evidence of what she’d done hiding, dark and sinister, beneath her fingernails._

_She clutched her ticket in her hand: a one-way bus ticket to as far as was physically possible without stopping. From there, she’d buy another one, and another one, until she ended up as far as she could. She’d paid with cash. She’d spoken to no one. She would be untraceable, and she needed to be. It was what she’d been doing her whole life, so it wasn’t like it was particularly hard._

_Disappearing was old hat, and thank goddess for that, because she’d just given the military even more reason to hunt her down, and she wasn’t going to set her violence on the whole institution until the time was right._

_Until they forced her to say the words, or to keep running for the rest of her life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! That happened!! 👀👀 
> 
> Also like I'll have you guys know that that is Porter's canon last name, Tippit. I don't know if that's how you spell it because I straight-up forgot subtitles were a thing but I did rewatch the eps with him in it just to get his last name. I promise he's not gonna get in the way of Raylla and you'll see why as we go along... 
> 
> If you were paying close attention in the previous fic, you may already know why... 👀👀
> 
> Ahahaha hope you enjoyed it and see you soon for the next one!


	3. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people! As always, I wanted to thank all of you reading this and commenting and kudos-ing, it really is so nice to see people enjoy this. I feel like I say that a lot but it's just true. 
> 
> No warnings really apply for this chapter either, except Porter is still here? 😂 I understand none of us are his biggest fan (lbr Scylla sending him to his death on the show made us fall in love with her a little more) but! Hold your torches and pitchforks: he's not around much longer and, well. He kind of is playing an important role, even if he doesn't necessarily know it...
> 
> I have said enough! Hope you all enjoy!

They opted to start their hike in the morning, settling in and cooking up a quick meal before setting up camp, which they quickly broke down in the morning before heading off. Between the four of them, navigation was actually fairly easy, as Raelle had suspected it would be. They made good headway, switching off packs to give themselves a break, Porter included despite his lack of a pack. They’d surmised that they had enough rations to make it to the fire tower and possibly beyond, if they were smart, and with a bit of work they could conjure up some water, so they would be all set as far as basic necessities. 

Honestly, their first couple days went fairly smoothly, though Raelle was pretty certain that they had all become more sweat than human by the end of each day. Showers were necessarily brief, which didn’t exactly help, but at the very least, Raelle slept like a rock, which was nice. Since Cotton Mather, she’d been periodically interrupted in her dreams with memories of Scylla’s parents’ deaths, not to mention recurring dreams with her own mother. Thankfully, they weren’t nightmares: not like they had been at Cotton Mather. But they were odd and unsettling dreams, and Raelle didn’t tend to sleep well after having them. Pure exhaustion went a long way to ensuring her nights were dreamless, and if she’d thought she was exhausted after a workout at Fort Salem…it was nothing compared to trekking miles and miles in the woods every day, in the sweltering southern heat and humidity, with two grumpy unit-mates and Porter, who seemed in oddly high spirits, given their circumstances. 

She wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but with each passing hour, something felt…off. 

It wasn’t that Porter was doing anything particularly odd: indeed, he seemed pretty normal, over all. Talkative, but not in a necessarily bad way. He had a lot of questions for the unit, though. He’d often rotate between the three members, starting at the front with whoever was leading them in navigation that day, then falling back to whoever was in the middle, and having a chat with them, before finishing with the person bringing up the rear. 

Raelle could tell, as she was usually the one in the back (her sense of direction was absolutely abysmal, despite her military training), that Porter’s antics bothered the absolute hell out of Abigail (who was usually the one in the middle of their little formation, even if she’d started in the front: it was just a fact that, of the three of them, Tally was best at navigation. Her Seeing abilities probably helped…). And Tally herself seemed genuinely okay with speaking to Porter, even delighted at some points, but her attitude slowly changed the more they walked and the later it became each day. 

And Porter seemed, oddly, to really enjoy speaking with Raelle, which irked her to no end. If she wasn’t mistaken, she was getting a lot of…flirty undertones from him, and Raelle would have honestly thought, after living her entire 22 years as a lesbian, that it was rather obvious. But straight boys had a tendency to be really oblivious to it, and Porter didn’t seem to be an exception. 

His questions had started out innocuous enough. How long had she been in the military? Did she like it? What was her specialization? 

Raelle mostly answered the questions with grunts or one-word answers, because she was usually, by the time Porter got to her, hot and tired and sweaty. The only time she enjoyed Porter’s company was when he relieved her of her backpack, which usually shut him up a bit, his breathing a little more labored as they trekked through the woods. 

“You like, talk a lot,” Raelle finally said near the end of their third day, reaching the end of her rope.

Porter laughed, “I’ve been told it’s an issue. It’s gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion,”

“And yet here you are,” Raelle deadpanned. 

Porter smirked at her, “You’re here, too,”

“Yes but only one of us is having a good time,” Raelle shot back. 

“I can sing, if you’d prefer that?” and Abigail groaned up ahead of them.

“Do not do that, or I will kill you myself and bring you back to the helicopter to make it look like you died in the accident,”

Something flashed in Porter’s eyes: a bit of contempt, thinly-veiled for only a moment, and he pursed his lips, if only just. The expression was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced immediately with a charming smile, almost to the point of exaggeration. 

“Yes ma’am,” he said, with just the slightest edge of sarcasm, and that was what did it, honestly: what first started setting Raelle on edge. 

Raelle looked at him curiously, then. She honestly hadn’t been paying Porter much attention, but that look…that edge in his voice. It was…familiar. She didn’t know why, but as she looked over his features: blonde hair, cut short as the military dictated, cool blue eyes, defined jaw…she’d seen him before. Bells of recognition were going off in her head, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen his face. 

“Do I know you?” Raelle blurted, and Porter looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think so, beautiful” he said with a wink, “I would remember a face like yours,”

Abigail blanched and Raelle physically stopped for a moment, shocked. 

“You know I’m gay dude, right?” she snapped.

“She gay dude, stop it,” was muttered under Tally’s breath, but even Raelle heard it as Abigail snorted. 

“So? Those aren’t mutually exclusive: you can be gay and beautiful,” Porter said with a shrug.

“Ugh, just stop,” Abigail said seriously, turning around, a murderous look on her face. 

Porter held up his hands, “Sorry,” he said, sounding sincere enough but not entirely looking like it. It was…such an odd disconnect, from his voice to his expression. His expression was…apologetic, but with a hardness to it that shouldn’t be there. 

It immediately sounded alarms in Raelle’s head. 

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to Specialist Collar,” Abigail snapped.

He looked at Raelle with repentance but…something else, underneath it. 

Amusement. 

It made Raelle’s skin crawl, but his apology again sounded sincere as he muttered it, never breaking eye contact. 

It put Raelle even more on edge, but she rolled her eyes at him and kept trekking on, and thankfully, Porter opted to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the day, until they settled to set up camp. 

He came over while Raelle set up her tent, and she stiffened as she noticed him.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, sorry, I just came to say that um,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “That I’m sorry, about earlier. I didn’t mean to come across so…creepy. I genuinely meant that being beautiful and gay aren’t exclusive things. It's great that you're into women: I am too!” he said with a small smile. 

Raelle rolled her eyes again, but some of the tension within her eased. 

“I also kind of…forgot, who I was and where I am,”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“Nothing, really. Just…you know, being in the woods, after a helicopter crash, with people you don't really know…sometimes it’s a lot. I didn’t mean to be an asshole,”

Raelle sighed, “Yeah, well. You were,”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Porter said quietly, “Genuinely,”

“Yeah, well. Don’t do it again, and maybe Abigail won’t kill you in your sleep and leave your body for the buzzards,” Raelle said, somewhat seriously, and Porter laughed. 

“Don’t tell, but I’m not really too afraid of Abigail,”

Raelle raised her other eyebrow, “You should be. She’s a strong Blaster,”

Porter smiled cryptically, “Believe me, Specialist. I’ve handled worse,”

“Worse than gale-force winds hurtling at your face?”

“In a manner of speaking,”

Raelle stared at him curiously. He looked…different. Remorseful, yes, but something was…off. Something was very off, and Raelle couldn’t place her finger on it and she didn’t like that. 

“Anyway, I just wanted to apologize, and hope you’ll forgive me. Sometimes I tend to regret things a little too late: it’s a thing I’m working on,”

“Like I said,” Raelle reiterated, “Just don’t do it again and I’m sure we’ll all get to the fire tower in one piece,”

He nodded, thanking her for listening to him before heading back to his own rudimentary set-up, which, for the last few nights, had just been using a tarp as a tent. As uncomfortable as it appeared, Porter never seemed to have an issue in being without a bed roll and an actual tent. 

Maybe Raelle should cut him some slack. After all, that set up couldn’t be comfortable, and she doubted she’d get a good night’s sleep like that. 

She shook her head to herself and refocused on the task at hand, hammering a pin into the ground with the rock in her hand.

\---

_She realized, too late, that she was being followed._

_Scylla was waiting for her fourth bus in so many months. It hadn’t been her intention to move about so much: she’d had to resort to a lot of pick-pocketing, or just straight-up telling people to give her their money. Once, she’d even hitched a ride from someone who clearly had nefarious plans for her, which she’d solved fairly quickly and gruesomely by telling him to impale himself on a branch._

_She’d watched passively, now not nearly as affected by blood as she once thought she would be. It didn’t faze her anymore, and somewhere inside of her, she knew that wasn’t good, but she couldn’t bring herself to care._

_She’d driven his car until it physically couldn’t go anymore, and she’d set off on foot from there until she’d settled in with some Dodgers, and then she’d set off on another bus._

_She was waiting for the fourth bus, ticket in hand, when someone sat on the bench next to her. Something in the way they sat, nonchalant but with purpose, had her on edge. She glanced at them out of the corner of her eye, and they held a book half-open in their lap._

Crime and Punishment: The Salem Trials

_Scylla stiffened immediately, heart rate picking up as the stranger, in sunglasses and a baseball cap, turned toward her and sent her a smile that was even more unnerving._

_“You’re a very hard person to track down,” the woman said, her voice rough. “But I just had to find the person responsible for this,” she tilted her book to reveal photos._

_They sent a shiver down Scylla’s spine. Three bodies, fastened to chairs, charred but not beyond recognition, her handiwork staring back at her._

_Scylla was ready to bolt but the woman chuckled lowly, “No need to run, I’m quite simply a fan of your work,” she said, which made Scylla tense even more, freezing in her immediate impulse to leave._

_The intriguing woman smiled. “You have a lot of rage in you, child,” the woman turned fully to her, “Tell me…have you heard of the Spree?”_

\---

By their fourth day hiking, fifth day after the crash, Raelle realized just how…trusting, they had been of Porter, when they probably shouldn’t have. In their defense, they didn’t have a reason to not trust their pilot, but then again…they’d really had no reason to trust him, either. 

It was mostly the little things that Porter did. He did dial back his talking, refraining from speaking with Abigail too much and largely speaking in hushed tones with Tally, but the way he acted just seemed…off. He never really fell into line, always walking near them, always keeping them talking: distracted. The more she thought about it, the more it irked Raelle. Something…something wasn’t right, and she couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was off. He hadn’t suggested trying any linking or other communication since the wreckage. He didn’t seem particularly fazed about having to take a slightly longer path, to avoid having to blast a trail through rock lest it “call attention”. He seemed remarkably calm and just…wrong. Something was wrong. Between his behavior and her nagging, lingering suspicion about their location, and about how he seemed so familiar but she just couldn’t place him…perhaps they’d been too quick to trust him.

At one point, Raelle, rather than accept her “alone time” with Porter, trekked up to the front while both he and Abigail watched her curiously, and she came up beside Tally.

“What does he talk to you about?” Raelle murmured, so as to not be heard. 

Tally glanced at her, “Lately, not much. Just mostly talks about base life.” 

“And before that?”

Tally hesitated, and Raelle softened her tone.

“C’mon, Tal, you can tell me. I just…” Raelle sighed, frustrated. “I get a weird vibe from this guy. Something’s off about him,”

Tally nodded, though subtly. “I think he might be Spree,” she said it barely louder than a whisper, and Raelle felt her eyebrows shoot up.

“What-really?” she hissed back, and Tally again nodded, if only just. 

“Lots of questions about my thoughts on the military. At first, I didn’t really think anything of it. He just sort of kept bringing up how he had a tough time in War College. First time he saw combat. How it was awful. I agreed, because it is, you know?”

And yeah, Raelle knew. The civilians thing still really killed Tally, and Raelle knew that, deep down, Tally had come to resent the military almost as much as Raelle did. 

“I know, Tal,” Raelle said softly, and Tally nodded. 

“At first, it just seemed like we had that in common, just feeling like our hands are tied. But…he kept sort of dropping these little hints. Like how none of us chose this, and it wasn’t fair. And he’s right, but it just…he just kind of kept going, until I think he realized I wasn’t agreeing with him, anymore.”

“So what makes you think he’s Spree?” Raelle prompted, “He’s a military pilot, isn’t he?”

Tally nodded, “He seems to be, but I don’t know, Raelle. It all just seems so…fishy. He doesn’t talk about it now, now he just talks about lighter topics, if he talks at all. Mostly, he’s sort of stopped talking. I think he suspects that I suspect something…” Tally continued, “And did you notice? How far from the drop point we were? I’m no pilot but it looks like we ended up way off-course to begin with. If we are near a Spree stronghold, and that’s why there’s a block…it’s not the one the military knows about.

Raelle stiffened, “You think he’s leading us there? To them?”

Tally nodded slightly, “Yes.”

Raelle glanced behind them, Porter and Abigail trudging along, neither speaking. 

“We have to talk to Abigail,” Raelle murmured.

Tally looked at her, “So you believe me? I thought maybe I was just being paranoid, or that exhaustion was getting to me…”

“I don’t know if he’s Spree, Tal, but given all you say…I don’t think you’re paranoid, and I don’t think he’s military, either. I don’t know, but something is off, and it’d be better for us to get the drop on him, rather than the other way around…”

“Agreed,”

“So, tonight: we talk to Abigail,”

“Yeah,”

\---

_She was…surprised, by the assignment. She’d never…she’d seen Spree’s various uses of bombs around the country. She’d reveled in the destruction, but she’d never been sent on a mission like it, and some part of her was relieved. She had in no way exorcised all of her demons, but her work with Spree gave her focus, and most of it was intelligence gathering, or simple, small recon missions that involved little violence, though Spree was all too happy to allow her to indulge her darker impulses._

_They saw that in her, and they cultivated that, she let them because she liked it. It made her dangerous. It made her blood sing with righteous fire and conviction, and it was nice to feel so alive again._

_Being brought on for such an attack…it was nerve-racking. It was exciting, and it churned her stomach, and she forced that all down as she drove, fighting that same uneasy feeling she’d had when she’d first decided to take a life._

_Instead, she repeated the facts, the statistics, over and over. How many witches had been killed at civilian hands. How many had been murdered, persecuted, burned. Several hundred in one go in a village in Germany, men, women, children, centuries ago. A few hundred in the South in the early twentieth century, many thousands over time, over many continents, over many centuries, numbering possibly in the tens of millions, systematically wiped out. And now, with the military? Countless witches sent to the slaughter. All in the name of a population that would just assume kill them all._

_It ignited that fire within her, the bright and hot flames of righteous rage: the only thing that really fueled her anymore. The only thing that drove her, so ingrained in her so as to practically be instinct._

_And as the bodies started hitting the floor, she could feel nothing but viciously satisfied, walking away with that same calm washing over her, an intentional disconnect from the horror taking place around her, the entire world muffled except for her words_

_“We are the Spree”_

\---

“I knew he was suspicious!” Abigail hissed to them, later that night. They’d waited until Porter was asleep – his make-shift tent flap shut and sealed by a seed that Raelle heard him whisper – before quietly gathering a good distance from the camp to have their little meeting, casting a quick Silencing seed to assure their conversation was private, “Ever since he was all leery with Raelle, I didn’t trust him, and honestly? Only psychopaths talk so damn much.”

“We don’t know for sure that he’s Spree,” Raelle whispered back, “But we know something’s up. Tally and I think we should figure out a way to restrain him, or something. Some way to get him to come clean,”

“Well we’ll definitely have to neutralize him,” Abigail agreed. “If he is Spree, we’ll have to find a way to contact our superiors, there’s just no other way. Having a member of the Spree with us will be huge,”

The plan they came up with was simple: they changed up their walking formation, slowly but surely, from a line to a triangle, and they did it while Porter was speaking with Tally, that way he wouldn’t notice at first. Of the lot of them, Raelle was the best at putting people to sleep without having to even touch them, so she would slowly get closer to Porter while Tally and Abigail questioned him. On their signal, she would knock him out. They had the collar and cuffs at the ready, tucked into one of Raelle’s military-issued cargo pants pockets. 

It started out smoothly enough: Porter speaking amicably with Tally, and Abigail coming up behind him. 

“So, Porter. Tell us about Basic, how was it for you?”

Porter glanced behind him, surprised at Abigail’s close proximity. “It was horrible, honestly. Hated every minute of it, can’t say I missed it once I got into War College,”

“How was War College for becoming a pilot? Where did you learn?”

Porter frowned, “Is this about the chopper, because I really have no idea what happened. We did all the necessary checks, it was fine right until we hit that point-”

“Kind of weird, isn’t it?” Abigail asked, “That everything was fine until we ended up in the middle of nowhere?”

Hesitation registered in Porter’s eyes, “Very weird,” he conceded, “It might have to do with the block. Perhaps it’s just anti-military all together. Who knows what resources Spree have at their disposal,”

“Who indeed,” Abigail muttered, and Raelle glared at her. Curse that Bellweather fire, Abigail was going to blow their cover before they even had a chance to implement their plan. “But, my first question: where did you learn to fly?”

“Alabama. That’s where all Army pilots learn for roto vehicles,”

“Yeah, Fort Darcy I hear is really nice. Warrior’s Hall is supposed to be the best place to learn,”

“It’s nice enough,” Porter said with a shrug. 

Abigail’s eyes widened and she immediately signaled Raelle, who, startled, took a quick step forward to make sure to aim her seed correctly. 

It all happened so quickly: suddenly, Porter sprang back, grabbing Tally and pulling her into the path of Raelle’s work. Tally fell to the ground just as Porter reached Abigail, who hit the ground a moment later, and Raelle sucked in a breath, trying to rush the words out, but it was too late: Porter’s fingers were on her temples before she could finish and the world turned black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oop. Dang the unit cannot catch a break, huh? But they seem to have figured him out. At least...they think they have...
> 
> Anyway, drop a line if you enjoyed! The ride is only just beginning! :)


	4. The Half-Life of a Liar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people! First an foremost, thank you to all the lovely comments, they honestly made my week. I really do feel like I say that way too often but it's just true! :) Unfortunately I don't have much time at the moment to reply to them like I usually do, it's moving day and this is the only time I'll have access to my laptop, so I wanted to get this chapter out! With any luck I can answer a few later on mobile. 
> 
> No warnings! Enjoy the chapter!! :)

_She had to kill him, and she honestly didn’t care: what was one more person, after all? Porter Tippit had been little more than a nuisance for most of time she had known him. He’d been a good way to pass the time, and for a while, she thought that his own feelings of contempt for the world were in line with hers, rather than a cheap imitation. But the truth came out, as it had a tendency to do, and she’d left him for the little worm he truly was._

_A wise decision._

_He hadn’t exactly told anyone at Fort Salem about her, and he didn’t exactly know she was Spree, but she could tell that he definitely suspected. And he was sticking his nose where it ought not be, and Scylla, honestly, had no qualms about killing him. Porter had always been a sniveling social climber: a follower, until it wasn’t convenient for him. Scylla had no doubt that he loved her: that with that kiss in her dorm, she’d already convinced him that all of his thoughts about her were wrong._

_He was weak-minded. Feeble._

_Stupid._

_He knew, had seen, her hatred, barely contained in the darkness of the night, planning out attacks with malicious intent and chaotic violence that never came to fruition because Porter always chickened out._

_That had been back when they were Dodgers hiding together after she’d lost her parents, and before she’d decided to take matters into her own hands and exact some semblance of revenge. Before Spree found her._

_No, Porter had always backed down, and Scylla, meanwhile, had been clicking the lighter, ready for the spark to ignite everything around her._

_It was…curious, and probably a testament to just how messed up she was, that fire didn’t scare her. It was the opposite. It was an old friend, like death itself. It had taken so much from her, but she recognized the inherent destruction and chaos within it: the pure, raw power. Fire didn’t discriminate: it destroyed, and holding that power in the palm of her hand was exhilarating._

_But Porter always tried to reign in her bloodlust, her desperation for combustion – her need to just burn everything around her as she took it down with her – and she hated having to quiet the chaos she felt in herself. She hated that her darkness scared him, and he tried to hide that part of her with jokes and excuses: tried to shine a light into a cavern that was threatening to swallow her whole._

_The joke was on him. She’d embraced that darkness long ago, so really, gaslighting him in her dorm almost felt…good. For all of the times he had done it to her, telling her she didn’t really want to be violent, she didn’t really want to do harm, she wasn’t serious about the murder burning in her eyes and in her soul. But she was, actually: deathly serious about it all, and so no, he didn’t really know her. Not anymore. The Scylla he knew, stricken by grief and fueled by pain and anger, had yet to embrace the totality of her desires: to be consumed by the flames._

_The Scylla he met at Beltane at Fort Salem…had blood on her hands. The lives of over a thousand people snuffed out by her actions, by her decisions, and it felt good. Lost to the darkness, it felt like nothing, really, to add one more life to her list._

_She hadn’t counted on his corpse being reanimated thanks to all the stupid fucking Beltane sex energy. She hadn’t counted on some random first year passing her building and trying to save him when Porter finally gave in to her Suggestion work and threw himself off the roof of her dorm. She hadn’t counted on said private then blabbing about everything she saw after linking with him: casting doubt on his death being a suicide._

_She hadn’t counted on it, and to say she was shitting bricks as the stupid fucking bird climbed down Porter’s throat was an understatement._

_“Did you kill yourself?” Izadora’s first question had Scylla stiffen, but she tried to keep her cool_

_“Yes,” he croaked, and Scylla shut her eyes, sucking in a breath as best she could._

_“Did you want to die?”_

_“No,”_

_Scylla’s eyes snapped open, and she found Porter’s cataract stare looking directly at her._

_“Why did you do it?”_

_“I was filled with an unbearable sadness,” he rasped out._

_Scylla clenched her jaw._

_“Were you depressed?”_

_“No,” he hissed, eyes still trained on Scylla._

_“Did someone kill you?”_

_“In a…manner of speaking,”_

_“Who?”_

_Scylla felt her heart hammer in her chest as Porter opened and closed his mouth several times, rasping._

_“A monster,” he said, finally._

_Scylla felt the air escape her too quickly, lungs collapsing, and she felt dizzy. But…he hadn’t said her name…_

_“Can you elaborate?” Izadora asked, her brow furrowed in confusion._

_“No,” he croaked._

_“Are you protecting them?”_

_“Yes,”_

_Izadora shook her head. “Why?”_

_His answer was almost too cryptic: “Flames give way to ash.”_

_Scylla furrowed her brow._

_Izadora stepped forward toward Porter, who slowly turned to look at her, rather than keep his dead gaze fixed on Scylla, which, she was surprised to find, didn’t feel like a relief at all._

_“Were they Spree?” Izadora asked seriously._

_Again, the reanimated corpse of her ex opened his jaw and closed it several times before answering._

_“I…don’t know,” he gasped loudly and Izadora stepped back, announcing that the bridge was closing._

_Scylla watched the bird slip out of the morgue through the pipes, and she walked out of room with the rest of her Necro classmates, up the stairs and out into the fresh air, rich with moisture and light and life from the events of Beltane._

_He…he had covered for her. The stupid sheep, even after she’d killed him…_

_Something panged inside of her, and she couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t…pain, per se. But she didn’t feel as great as she had before, either. Her victory suddenly rang hollow and, as she wandered to her favorite spot in the woods – the graveyard, hidden away from prying eyes – she sat and contemplated._

_Porter had…covered for her. Lied. From beyond the grave. So strong was his love for her, that he had already forgiven her for sending him to his death?_

_What was it that he’d said? Flames give way to ash? What did that…what did that mean? That he thought she would burn out? Calm down? Stop?_

_Did he honestly have faith that she was anything other than vengeance, incarnate?_

_He must have, and that made him stupider than she’d ever thought. For some reason though, that made her sad, the threat of tears stinging her eyes. She quickly shook her head, annoyed with herself for even feeling such a ridiculous emotion. She was happy he was dead. He had been nothing, meant nothing, to her, for so long. He’d been a companion in misery and nothing more, and yet…_

_And yet, to him, she’d apparently been much more. She’d always known, but still, in his shoes…she would have told. She would have wanted everyone to know._

_What a fucking idiot, she realized, and relief flooded her system as her adrenaline – which really, had been circulating in her veins the moment she’d failed to warm the corpse with enough time to do any real damage – finally started to dissipate._

_He’d covered for her, even in death. She’d gotten away with it. The tears were happy tears, she reassured herself, and indeed, she found herself laughing._

_She’d gotten away with it._

_…She’d gotten away with it._

\---

Raelle awoke to an incredible dizziness, and forced herself not to move to allow the nausea to pass. She’d been knocked out via sleep seed too many times to count, and she knew that waking too quickly was less than pleasant, and she didn’t want to have to deal with vomiting at that moment.

Especially as she started to come to, and realized she was in cuffs. 

She groaned, tugging at them, and swallowed, her mouth dry. A tightening around her neck had her snapping her eyes open, against her better judgement, and she winced as the nausea returned, full force. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ puke on me, Collar,” she heard a voice – Abigail’s – croak next to her. 

Raelle squeezed her eyes shut before attempting to reopen them again, slowly taking in her cuffed hands, and then noticing that her ankles were cuffed, too.

She groaned but brought her hands to her neck, trying her best not to elbow Abigail, who was laid out on her side, directly in front of Raelle, and sure enough: Raelle was collared, as well. 

“Great plan, guys,” she muttered as Tally groaned softly from behind her.

“Shut up,” Abigail said, without any bite. 

“My goddess, how did any of you survive as a unit, honestly?”

Raelle swiveled her head, squinting in the bright afternoon sunlight, to see Porter sitting on a log not far from them. He didn’t look like he’d said it with any malice, just genuine confusion.

“Families fight,” Abigail snapped, though she didn’t shift to look at Porter. 

Porter shrugged despite that, “My family’s dead, so I guess I’ll take your word for it,”

“You gonna kill us?” Abigail snapped, ever-defiant, and Porter chuckled.

“I’ve gone to all the trouble of getting you out here, so no, killing you would really be counter-productive,”

“Isn’t tying us up just a little counter-productive, as well?” Abigail shot back, and Porter rolled his eyes as he stood.

“It wasn’t exactly my choice. Honestly, if you guys had just waited a few more hours to figure it all out, we could have been at the fire tower by now. But no,” he shook his head, “Too smart for your own good.”

“Or maybe you’re too stupid for your own. What kind of idiot doesn’t know that Warrior’s Hall isn’t at Fort Darcy?”

Raelle rolled her eyes to herself. She hadn’t fucking known that. 

“One who isn’t a military brat, Bellweather. Some of us have a life,” Porter said, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I’m afraid the cuffs will slow us down, but they’re sort of necessary. Don’t feel like getting my ass handed to me, thanks. Or any of you running off on me.”

“And if we refuse?” Abigail said defiantly, and Raelle kicked her. 

Porter sighed, “Look, Bellweather: don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I can be nice, or I can be rough, and believe me,” he made his way in front of Abigial, bending over to give her a cold stare, “You don’t want me to be rough,”

Ralle couldn’t see the glare that Abigail was surely giving Porter, but she imagined it rivaled her own.

“So!” Porter straightened, “Now that you’re all awake, up and at ‘em, ladies! We have a few hours to get to where we’re going, and we’re going to need every minute,” 

Abigail pushed herself up, and Raelle followed, resenting the sound of the chains clicking together before she looked down and realized…they were chained. All of them. Their ankle cuffs were connected: no way to run. She sighed, resigned, as they all stood as a unit. 

Porter picked up one of their backpacks, easily slinging it over his shoulders and fastening it in place. “Come along, now,” he said, nodding ahead.

“Our other packs-” Tally started, and Porter shook his head.

“Won’t need them,” he said, and Raelle heard just the barest hint of a seed before the bags on the ground burst into flames. 

Raelle stared, startled. Abigail stiffened in front of her, and Porter nodded at them again. 

“Like I said. I can make this rough, or you can come quietly,”

Raelle could just see the scowl on Abigail’s face, but alas, she began walking, one foot in front of the other, and they started on their way.

\---

_Scylla watched the graduation from up in her room, curling her lip. She was supposed to be down there, supporting the new cadets as they officially took one step closer to dying for the cause, but she had to pack up her dorm and honestly, she didn’t feel like looking at them. Witches, young and brilliant and strong and beautiful, with stars in their eyes, ready to serve an institution that didn’t give a shit about them, and so many would still think that what they were doing was noble. Indoctrinated to believe the military could do no wrong, when in fact, that was all it did._

_It was disgusting, and she found that she couldn’t stomach it, so she didn’t. She stayed in her dorm, with books scattered around, her bed half-unmade, clothes already packed. One perk of the military: she didn’t really have many clothes, which left plenty of room in her luggage for her books. She would be moving up a floor in order to make room for some of the recruits who made it into War College._

_The knock at her door was…unusual, but she heaved a sigh. Izadora had probably realized that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be and had sent someone to come get her. With that thought in mind, Scylla pulled open the door, raising an eyebrow at the three women standing outside of it._

_That was all she remembered, besides one asking if she was Scylla Ramshorn. She confirmed and just like that, two of the officers were suddenly in her room, one of her arms in each of their grasps, and the one who had asked her name came forward, fingers reaching for her temples._

_The only thought before she fell into induced sleep was the realization that she’d been caught. She knew it in her bones, on instinct, and as the world faded to black, she scowled._

_Fuck._

\---

Porter was decidedly less talkative, now that they were all at his mercy, and in some ways, that was almost worse. They trekked in silence for a good while before he had them stop for a quick break, which involved pouring water into their open mouths. Which was pretty humiliating, honestly, but they were sweating in the middle of a humid forest, so Raelle wasn’t about to refuse, though Tally did, silently and stoically ignoring the offered water. 

“Craven,” Porter sighed, “Now’s really not the time,”

“Seems like as good a time as any,” Tally said flatly.

Porter rolled his eyes, “I get it, okay? You’re facing an unknown stranger who hasn’t given you reason to trust them, and you think defiance will save you. It won’t. Water is a necessity and you’ve been sweating buckets,” his tone was surprisingly gentle, to the point that even Tally seemed a little surprised. 

“Are you Spree?” she asked instead, setting her jaw defiantly.

Porter sighed, screwing the cap back on the bottle. “No,” he said.

“Well we don’t believe that,” Abigail said, but Raelle tilted her head, taking Porter’s expression in. He seemed…sincere. 

He chuckled, “You can ‘not believe that’ all you want, but I’m not Spree. Not anymore. I used to be, though.”

“And what? You expect us to believe you just…quit?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything. Not yet,” he said simply, with a shrug. “Not like you’ll listen to anything I say now, anyway,”

“Did you leave Spree?” Raelle found herself asking, surprised by her own question. 

Porter eyed her then, appraisingly, and something about it made her skin crawl, but only because…only because that predatory gaze was familiar. She’d seen it before: on Porter, it lacked the intensity. His eyes weren’t cold enough, weren’t calculating enough, but still, the look was similar. 

It couldn’t be…it wasn’t possible. Scylla was in prison, locked up in the highest security wing of the highest security detention camp the US military had. But that was why she recognized the look: it was Scylla’s look. Sharp and calculating, like she could see through Raelle…like she knew something Raelle didn’t. And that was the same look she was receiving, and it was unnerving to see on a face other than Scylla’s. 

But Scylla was locked away and Porter was very clearly a man, and yet…it was haunting, how similar the looks were, now that Raelle recognized it. 

“Not by choice,” was Porter’s answer. 

“So they forced you out?”

“Not exactly,”

“I’m confused,” Tally muttered. 

Porter broke his intense eye contact with Raelle to glance at Tally. “Sometimes, circumstances force our hand. Be it following orders we find reprehensible,” Tally flushed, looking at the ground. Damn, Raelle hadn’t realized he’d already gotten so much out of her in a matter of days…

Porter turned his gaze pointedly back to Raelle, “or being forced to reconsider our allegiances. That’s war, beautiful,”

The words rang in Raelle’s skull, echoing, pulling at memories of Scylla smirking and saying those same words. She could so clearly see those blue eyes, filled with malicious amusement and oozing confidence in everything she was saying. She could even see the smirk, the same one adorning Porter’s lips, and it struck Raelle then: they knew each other. They had to. 

“You know Scylla Ramshorn?!” Raelle nearly shouted, accusatory. 

Everyone was suddenly looking at her, but Raelle remained focused on Porter, who raised an eyebrow as he coolly asked “Who?” at the same time that her unit mates also asked “Who?” (Tally) and “Who the fuck-” (Abigail). 

He was lying. He was lying! Mischief danced in his eyes even as he put on a confused face for her, for her unit, tilting his head to the side and goddess…that was something Scylla would do. 

Porter tilted his head, and both Tally and Abigail, Raelle realized, were staring at her with curious looks on their faces. 

She glanced at each of them before swallowing. “Um, she…Detainee Thirteen,” she muttered, and realization dawned on both of their faces. They turned to Porter, who looked confused, but it didn’t reach his eyes still, and…goddess, if Raelle didn’t know any better-

She would think it was Scylla before her, in some kind of man-suit. 

But no, that was impossible…

Right?

“You know her,” Raelle insisted and Porter raised his eyebrows but shrugged.

“Sure, beautiful,” he said with sarcasm and a wink. 

It made Raelle shudder, and Abigail scowled at him. 

He paid her no mind, starting to pack up. “Alright, ladies, time to get going!” and, with some fuss, they started off again. Abigail kept sending Raelle questioning glances as they walked, and Raelle could feel Tally’s own questioning gaze on her. She could already hear the questions they were dying to ask: why do you know a detainee’s name? Why do you think Porter knows her? Should we be worried if he’s lying and he does? 

Raelle didn’t know if they _should_ be worried, per se. But that didn’t mean that they shouldn’t be, either. If Porter really was ex-Spree, then…who was he working for? Perhaps the same ally that Scylla revealed she had? Some military shadow puppet, pulling strings from within? The thought made Raelle shiver. 

She supposed, at any rate, they’d find out soon. 

\---

_Her head pounded. She had a splitting headache, and, she was fairly certain, were her stomach not empty, she very well may have thrown up. Her hands were shaking, from low blood sugar or from the pain or from anger, she really wasn’t sure._

_Honestly, since waking up in the cell, her hands hadn’t stopped shaking and her head hadn’t stopped pounding, but it was all fucking worth it. Because General Sarah Alder had tried to break her, and she had failed. Because Izadora L’amara had done the same, and had failed. Because they had fed her nothing, disguised as food, disguised as glass, and even with the sharp feel of it in her mouth, she had fucking laughed in Sarah Alder’s face._

_She’d very nearly broken Anacostia Quatermaine’s nose. And despite Quartermaine’s repeated attempts to slice open her mind and take what little information she did have about the Spree, Scylla’d managed to fight her off, every single time._

_And on top of that? She’d gotten to be as rude as she fucking wanted. No more pretenses of being obedient to the military: no more boot-licking or pretending she felt anything other than contempt for her superiors. They’d caught her, they knew she was Spree and they were torturing her for it, as Spree knew they would, and as Scylla knew they would._

_She’d never thought that she’d get caught, honestly, but she had been thoroughly prepared for it anyway. Spree had put her through a similar trial, and even the military had trained her, in their own ways, on mental fortification. On top of that, she’d been a Dodger her whole damn life. Hiding who she was and what she knew was basically second nature. Enduring pain and darkness was her bread and butter. Staring death in the face was just a Tuesday. After all: they couldn’t break what had already been broken._

_And they already had the information about Vermont. She didn’t know how they had it, but she’d watched General Alder’s address to the nation with the rest of her classmates at Fort Salem regarding the explosions at the Spree plant in Vermont, and the thwarting of their plan to ship armaments internationally. Scylla hadn’t even been privy to those plans, so it wasn’t like she could give her captors any new information, but she wasn’t going to tell them that. Let them waste their time on her. Let them try to break her. Let them unleash the rage she’d kept below the surface for far too long._

_Still, though. She was tired. And the lights were too bright, and soon, if she was counting her minutes properly, Quartermaine was going to walk into her cell with another one of those horrid screaming boxes. What Scylla wouldn’t give to be able to put her own work into one of those, to set off some kind of bomb like the Spree to force someone to let her out._

_But that would involve vocal magic, and she very much was not capable of doing that in that moment._

_Like clockwork, the door opened and Quartermaine walked in, box in hand._

_“Bless the punctuality of the military, I almost thought you were going to be late. It would have thrown off my whole schedule. I have dinner with the President at six and I really can’t afford to miss that,” Scylla greeted, straightening in her chair._

_Truth be told, she was exhausted. But little victories kept her going: little victories like laughing at Alder and calling Izadora, after a particularly brutal round of interrogation, a “fungus-y old bitch” (before receiving a hell of a back hand), and, well…like the micro-expressions in Quatermaine’s face. Little tiny fractures in her always so cool and calm and collected façade, but Scylla could tell she was starting to get on Quatermaine’s nerves._

_She did always have a bit of a talent for being incredibly manipulative, needling people until they bled. Creeping into their minds like lobotomy needles until it was too late for them to fight back._

_She smiled at Quatermaine, “You really didn’t have to bring me another music box, Anacostia. Surely it’s overkill by now? I fear I won’t have any room in my cell if you keep bringing me such exquisite gifts. You’ll make my other suitors jealous,”_

_Scylla smiled but raised a challenging eyebrow and Quatermaine’s mouth ticked down, just the slightest, and that made it all worth it as she opened the box and Scylla felt her head split open in pain once again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I pulled a Sixth Sense! He's been dead the whole time!! :O Hahaha I tried to leave you guys some textual clues as to "Porter" and his true identity, and tbh I'm glad they were picked up on but that they were subtle enough that there was still some room for doubt: that was what I was going for! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked it, drop a line or kudos if you can! A bit of some sassy Scylla near the end there, we love to see it! ^_^


	5. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! New timezone, who dis?? Haha the move went well for the most part, still tons of things I have to sort out but for now I'm settling in! Also, new chapter so yay! Thank you again for all the lovely comments as well, they made my trip a lot happier. :) 
> 
> -Slight warning for this chapter, torture of our little murder bean. I say as if the entire last fic didn't heavily imply that, but it's a little more explicit here since we're sometimes in Scylla's POV. I wouldn't say it's as graphic as that little stunt she pulled on Raelle last fic, though. Not so much blood or fire in this one but definitely some bile so just slight warning on that.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy the chapter! :)

It turned out that Porter actually was bringing them to a fire tower. They passed a Warden’s cabin, definitely long-abandoned and fallen into heavy disrepair, including holes in the roof and windows boarded up by rotting planks of wood. Then they passed another small cabin, and another, clearly for the people who would have been working on rotations in the fire tower, now completely abandoned. It was…kind of eerie, honestly, even in the spotty sunlight. Finally though, they did arrive: the fire tower reaching up beyond the canopy. 

They weren’t alone, either. Someone was leaning against the tower and straightened as they approached. 

“Bit excessive, isn’t it?” the figure asked, her voice only too familiar.

Porter shrugged, “They figured it out too soon,”

“Yeah, you probably did nothing to help that,” Anacostia Quatermaine said, stepping forward and into the sunlight. 

Raelle felt her jaw drop. Anacostia…Anacostia was working with ex-Spree members? Anacostia was-

“What the hell?” Abigail’s shout spoke for the entire unit, though both Porter and Anacostia ignored that in favor of an almost…glare-off, between the two.

Finally, though, Anacostia nodded curtly before turning to face the unit. 

“Ladies,” she greeted, and it was Tally who spoke up next.

“Anacostia? What-”

A click had them all turning to look as Porter struck up a lighter and brought it to his face, and Raelle stared in shock as he lit himself on fire. Tally shouted and even Abigail made some sort of noise of surprise, the flames curling around him, burning, burning, until…

Until stood before them wasn’t Porter Tippit, but a very different person. For a moment, Raelle felt her brain short-circuit. Before her stood-

“Scylla?!”

“What the actual fuck?!”

“What-”

Abigail suddenly turned around and Raelle saw Tally also gaping at her as they said, in unison: “Scylla?!”

Scylla smiled and waved at them as Anacostia let out a sigh.

“Apologies for the subterfuge, ladies,” Anacostia said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “It’s not our ideal situation, but this was the best way we could-”

Abigail barked out a laugh, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. This is some kind of trick, right?! No way are you Anacostia,”

Anacostia…or, well, fake-Anacostia looked affronted, to her credit. 

“What?!” Abigail snapped, pointing at not-Porter with her cuffed hands, “You expect me to believe you’re Anacostia after we just saw that? Like that was a literal face-change. Fuck you, you think we’re some kind of morons?” she spit. 

“She’s got a point, Anacostia,” not-Porter said, and Raelle blinked at her voice. It was…god, it was definitely Scylla’s voice. It was…it was Scylla, for sure. Or at least…it looked like her. But…but she had just been Porter?

“And you’re not Scylla,” Raelle croaked, surprising herself at the actual hurt that came through her voice. 

Not-Porter cocked her head to the side, frowning. “No, I’m definitely Scylla,” she said, nodding to herself.

Bullshit. Raelle said as much, which caused “Scylla” to raise an amused eyebrow. 

“Language, Private Collar! Your superior is right over there,” Scylla indicated with a nod to Anacostia. 

“Bullshit,” Abigail said at the same time that Raelle exclaimed “Prove it!”

Scylla smirked and flipped her hand over, sliding her finger over her open palm. 

Raelle’s own left palm burned immediately, the S searing itself into her flesh once again. She turned her hand over, gaping as the welts sprouted. She caught similar expressions from her unit, but all she could do was…stare, as Scylla smiled at her, that infuriatingly amused half-smile that she always used still having that unnerving effect on Raelle, even outside of a cell.

Especially outside of a cell.

Scylla wasn’t at Cotton Mather. But…but-

“How?!” Raelle gaped, and Scylla only smirked triumphantly. 

“Friends in low places,” she winked. 

Abigail took advantage of Raelle’s shocked silence to round on “Anacostia”. 

“You next,” she said decisively, and Raelle broke her staring contest with Scylla to look over at Anacostia, who had raised both of her eyebrows considerably. “What?!” Abigail asked, “If she can prove it, you need to, too. Why the hell would Anacostia be out here in the middle of the woods, working with,” she cast a glance back at Scylla, looking unsure, “A fucking…terrorist?”

Raelle nodded, and Abigail set her jaw at the confirmation and reiterated “A fucking terrorist! So no, I don’t buy that you’re Anacostia, and until you burn off this fake face and show us your real one, I don’t believe you,”

Anacostia sighed, but to all of their surprise, Scylla spoke up. “No, that makes perfect sense, actually,” They all looked to her and she nodded, stepping forward to Anacostia and holding out her lighter with a cheeky grin. 

Okay, fuck, it definitely was Scylla. Amusement danced her eyes as though she thought this was going to be just fucking hilarious, and Anacostia sent her an exasperated, dirty look. 

Scylla quirked an eyebrow, and some kind of silent communication happened between them that Raelle was simply too shocked to even try to comprehend, so she tucked it away for later. The fact that apparently Anacostia and Scylla knew each other enough to communicate fucking wordlessly was something she just didn’t have the mental capacity to process in that moment.

Anacostia snatched the lighter from Scylla with a sigh. Scylla, for her part, looked positively delighted, and Anacostia lit the flame and held it up to her hair, which immediately took. The smell of it reached Raelle a moment later and almost made her gag: it was very clearly real hair, and Anacostia put the fire out not a moment later, glaring at them.

“None of you have a right to complain, that smell is your damn fault,” she said flatly, handing the lighter back to Scylla, who still looked entirely too entertained. 

“Aw, come now, Anacostia, they’re just following military protocol, like good little soldiers,”

“You, shut up,” Anacostia pointed at her warningly. 

Scylla smirked as she approached the unit. “Anacostia doesn’t know how to do that face-change trick, just for future reference. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but she just can’t get the hang of it.”

“And you couldn’t have told us that beforehand?” Tally asked, sounding genuinely affronted. 

Scylla tilted her head at her. “No.”

Anacostia rolled her eyes. “Anyway,” she said flatly, “Ladies, sincerely, my apologies for all of this. I imagine Ramshorn might have been a little rough with you-”

Scylla scoffed, and Raelle couldn’t help but just…stare, at her. Her hair was shorter than it had been in prison, and she had it pulled back into a braid that looked like it ended just beneath the nape of her neck. She smiled, catching Raelle staring, and Raelle looked away, her ears burning. 

“-but regardless, I’m afraid that the restraints would have been necessary at some point, anyway. Regrettably, for now, I have to leave them on while I explain everything. I can’t run the risk of any of you deciding to attempt to leave before we can tell you everything-”

“Everything about what?” Abigail interrupted, and Anacostia glared at her.

“Everything about everything, Bellweather. Don’t interrupt,”

“Yeah Bellweather,” Scylla chided, which earned her a glare. Scylla remained unfazed, “You’ll have to try harder than that. I served nearly three years in a maximum security prison: you’re not scary,”

Abigail bared her teeth and Anacostia cut in with a huge sigh. “Ladies! Tensions are high and we’ve been outside and exposed for too long already: you’re here now, so let’s get you inside, and we can explain ourselves,”

Inside? Raelle looked around, dumbfounded. The only thing into which they could go had been the cabins, or maybe the fire tower, which honestly…looked even worse than the cabins did. 

“Follow me,” Anacostia motioned for them to follow, and Scylla encouraged them as well, standing behind them and raising her eyebrows until Abigail rolled her eyes and trudged forward. They trekked for a few minutes before Anacostia stopped them, kneeling down and touching the ground before opening her mouth and releasing a deep, melodic seed. 

Beneath them, the ground gave way until Raelle, startled, saw it: stairs. Down into the ground.

An underground compound. 

\---

_“Just. Let. Me. In,” Quatermaine hissed, her hands on Scylla’s shoulders._

_Scylla was exhausted. They’d been doing this all fucking day or all fucking night or whatever fucking time it was. She hadn’t slept in she didn’t know how fucking long. She was hungry, and thirsty, and in pain, and her ears were ringing and she could feel Quartermaine rooting around in her mind, trying to tear down every single block she put up._

_But she was tired. She was so tired of this. Of fighting Quartermaine at every turn. Of fighting someone who had an advantage on her: well-rested, well-fed, well-trained. It was a goddamned miracle Scylla hadn’t broken yet, but she was wearing thin._

_She forced herself to breathe through the pain, clamping down on Anacostia’s wrists, digging her nails in and trying to work through the cutting feel that was someone else pushing into her mind, uninvited. She squeezed her eyes, breathing labored, grinding her teeth._

_She wanted to cry. She wanted to whimper. She wanted to break. She was so fucking tired and all that fighting would get her was more fighting. Breaking would lead to failure but what did that matter? Spree had made it very clear that if she was captured, they would not take her back. Not right away, anyway. Not until they could be sure that she hadn’t compromised them._

_She doubted she’d make it out of that damn cell alive, though, and she’d be damned if she let the military break her and then kill her._

_Fuck them._

_She pushed out a breath, spit dripping onto her lap as she forced herself to be strong, another wave of Anacostia’s powerful extraction work hitting her hard and fast._

_She did cry out, then, because she couldn’t not. It felt like someone had taken an ax and cleaved her from crown to stomach. She could feel the bile churning. She was all too aware of the feverishness of her body: chills, shakes. Adrenal overload._

_She was going to break. She couldn’t hold it back, any longer. If she did, she would have an aneurysm right there, and she could feel it building, pressure in her mind, pressure in her veins pressure in her heart–_

_Another wave and she lurched forward, bile rising in her throat until she couldn’t keep it down. She threw up what little she had in her stomach but still Quartermaine pressed._

_“This will be so much easier for both of us if you just let. Me. In.”_

_Scylla bore her teeth at the ground, snarling._

_She wanted in so bad?!_

_Fine!_

_She felt the next wave of Quartermaine’s power building, and this time, as she unleashed it, Scylla dropped the walls._

_If Quatermaine wanted to know what she knew so badly, fine. They may as well start at the beginning._

_Conjuring the memory was easier than it really should have been, but Scylla had truly thought of little else since the moment her parents had been murdered. She dove into the memory, though, indulging all of her senses in it: the stench of burnt flesh, a smell that had never really left her nose. The sound of fire and screams around her – some real, some from the underworld – the feel of flames as they licked her skin, the blistering heat, the feel of burnt flesh as it gave way beneath her hand. The boiling blue eyes of her mother, the sound of blood as it rushed in her ears._

_Pure chaos that had never allowed Scylla peace since it had all come to pass, and she put Quatermaine right into the thick of it. She could feel Quartermaine’s visceral reaction, shock followed by disgust, fear. Overwhelmed. She tried to pull back and Scylla didn’t let her, digging her fingernails into Quatermaine’s flesh and clamping onto her presence in her mind._

_“Stay a while,” she hissed, forcing her own eyes to stay open even as the fire played before her very vision._

_She could feel the pain as Anacostia succumbed to it, too shocked to properly react, and just like that, Scylla saw it: the blackness of her parents’ burned bodies turned to blackness of a different kind, smooth skin of two witches, trapped in a car. Their fear was palpable, but they wouldn’t break, their faith unshakeable as they waited, and waited, and slowly bled out as no one came to save them._

_Scylla felt herself gasp, and Quatermaine forcefully pulled herself out of Scylla’s grasp._

_Scylla heard her stumble back several paces, her footfalls heavy, her breathing labored to the point where she started coughing, as though the smoke of Scylla’s memories had truly filled her lungs. As though the smoke from Anacostia’s own parents in their wrecked car scratched at her throat._

_She kept coughing for several minutes, sputtering. Scylla counted, feeling her own breathing gradually return to normal, until they were both simply…there. Breathing. Scylla could hear Quartermaine, but she didn’t come forward. She didn’t do anything for a long while, before she said simply: “You-”_

_She never completed the thought, and Scylla thought she heard the quiet intake of breath that signaled tears. Good._

_Still, Scylla felt a small pang in her chest. She’d had no idea that Quartermaine had lost her parents, too. And at such a young age, she could tell. The memory was disjointed: unlike Scylla’s. It had lost its edge, but was still wrought with pain, and Scylla could sympathize._

_But it served her right, for trying so hard to break Scylla. It served her right to know that Scylla had suffered as she had. To know that Scylla was beyond saving, was beyond her use to the military and to Spree. That all she had left was her pain and it was all she’d ever really had, anyway. Pain was how she knew she was alive._

_So she let Anacostia feel alive with her._

\---

They walked into the cool air of an underground passage, dimly lit, but not in an uninviting way. The light was soft and easy for their eyes to adjust to, and Raelle saw, out of the corner of her eye, Scylla take a deep breath and exhale, tension leaving her body as the ground resealed itself above them.

Right. She had said she was Necro. She probably was used to such a dark ambiance. The morgue at Fort Salem certainly had a bit of a similar feel. 

“Like I said, ladies,” Anacostia started, unfastening the cuffs around their ankles and wrists. Raelle massaged the spots where the metal had started to chafe her skin and followed as they began walking down the hall that stretched before them, Anacostia in the lead. “We apologize for the subterfuge, but this is…top secret,”

“Is this military?” Abigail asked in awe, taking in the hall. It forked ahead of them and they went to the left. 

“No,” Scylla answered, and Raelle turned to look at her where she was trailing behind them, “This is a remnant from the oldest Dodgers in this country,”

Scylla wasn’t looking at them as she said that, instead trailing her fingers over the grey concrete. “They built it, and others through the ages fortified it,”

“You’ve gone rogue?!” Abigail asked Anacostia, shocked. 

Anacostia sighed, “In a manner of speaking,”

“She saw the truth,” Scylla spoke up again. 

“You shut up,” Abigail directed at Scylla, and for just an instant, Raelle saw that murderous look flash across Scylla’s features. Outside of a cell, she had to admit…it was a lot more terrifying. 

Scylla lifted her chin, challenging, with the slightest hint of contempt curling her lip, eyes cold, “Are you going to make me?”

“I can-” Abigail stepped forward.

“Hey!” Anacostia cut in, and everyone turned their attention to her.

Raelle, for her part, felt her mouth drop open, realization hitting her. “I…you…Anacostia…Anacostia was your contact?!”

Scylla turned to her, the hostility dissolving from her features. “Yes. I told you, Raelle. We both left my cell at Fort Salem very different than how we entered it,”

“You were at Fort Salem?” Abigail cut in, at the same time that Tally asked “How did this happen?”

Anacostia interrupted again, “Ladies! If you’ll just finish following me, we can discuss all of this. In private,” she eyed them seriously.

Abigail huffed but followed as they all started walking again, passing through a doorway and into a large, spacious room that wasn’t unlike their training gym at Basic,, but with a lower ceiling. 

People were in the space, too, in civilian clothes, and they stared curiously at the three witches in military garb being traipsed through the room. 

Raelle suddenly felt self-conscious. She didn’t recognize any of the faces staring at her, though there were decidedly…many. Some were sat at work benches, hunched over work stations, and others were murmuring quietly among themselves. 

They left that room and proceeded deep into the compound, which, Raelle was realizing, was clearly quite sizeable. 

Finally, though, they slipped into an office-like room, complete with a small meeting table, chalk board with tons of odd looking schematics on it, and stacks of paper all over the room, some of it tucked into boxes that were also stacked and pushed off to a corner. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Scylla ran her pinky over the doorknob to seal it shut.

Raelle took in the room and then watched as Scylla took a seat, looking entirely too at home. 

It was just…it was just so goddamn weird. It was so goddamned weird to see Scylla Ramshorn, Detainee Thirteen, fucking...Sixteen-hundred, walking around, free as a bird: with no collar on her neck and no red uniform on her body. Instead, she was in a regulation white military t-shirt, a men’s, which hung loose on her compared to how it’d looked when she was Porter. His jacket was tied around her waist, as he’d done on their first day hiking, and the cargo pants were baggy. She looked so…ordinary. Like she was a military pilot on her first day of leave, just arrived home from base so she hadn’t changed out of her uniform yet. 

She looked at home, too, kicking her feet up onto the table and leaning back in her chair. She sent Raelle a pleased smile, as though she knew that just the sight of her was short-circuiting Raelle’s brain, which it definitely was. 

“How did you get out?” she found herself asking again, as Anacostia invited them all to sit as well.

Scylla tilted her head, “Prison transfer,”

“I got her out,” Anacostia said, pinching the bridge of her nose as she took her place at the head of the table, though she didn’t sit, opting instead to lean on her hands. 

Abigail struggled with the collar on her neck, and poor Tally just looked entirely too confused. 

“Stop that, Bellweather,” Anacostia reprimanded, “That thing won’t come off without a specific seed, and until we’ve gotten through all of this, and said our piece, we can’t take them off of you,”

“Why the hell not?!” Abigail snapped.

“Because it’s a liability,” Scylla spoke up, noticeably keeping her cool even as Abigail glared at her. She fixed Abigail with that appraising and unnerving gaze she had. 

To Abigail’s credit, she seemed unaffected. 

“ _You’re_ a liability. To this entire operation. To us. To our security and the security of this compound, and until we’re sure that you’ve heard us out and calmed down, your options are to sit here and listen, or to go out there and risk all that we’ve been working towards for years,” Scylla’s voice was ice, deathly serious, “If you want to do the latter, be my guest. Just know it’ll be the last move you ever make. You’re in this, now, and we can’t let you leave until you have all of the facts. So you either stay and hear us out, or you die. Understand? Considering the goddamn trouble I just went through to get you here, and the insane amount of strings Anacostia has had to pull, maybe you just settle the fuck down, okay?”

Abigail glared, her nostrils flaring, but, surprisingly, she sat begrudgingly back in her chair, folding her arms so that they all knew that she wasn’t happy, but she was going to listen. 

It was something. 

Scylla herself also sunk back into her chair, looking at Abigail with contempt before focusing her attention back on Anacostia, and Raelle did the same, forcing herself to tear her gaze away from the sight that she still couldn’t quite believe. 

“Now, then, if for now, we can hold onto our questions until after I finish what I have to say,” Anacostia looked at each of the members of the Bellweather unit pointedly, “Then we can start. First thing is first: ladies, welcome to the resistance,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scylla being Mamacostia's problem child, as always! She just can't resist an opportunity for chaos when she sees one, huh? They have each other's backs when it counts though, which you'll see later. And finally! The truth is revealed! 
> 
> Also like, you guys. In starting to write this sequel you have no idea how many circles I had to go in until I realized that for Raylla and the rest to be truly happy in the end, big changes have to be made so, well...here we are! 😂😂
> 
> Anyway, drop a line if you saw THAT coming lmao, or if you enjoyed, etc. ^_^ Thanks for reading!


	6. Decisions and Details when Dealing with Devils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! As always, thank you for the lovely comments, they've made my transition period a little bit brighter! Who would have thought that moving could be so stressful?! Especially given all of the circumstances... 😅
> 
> I hope that you guys enjoy the next chapter! No warnings apply, except the usual MFS isn't mine, characters aren't mine, etc.

_“Did you know that torture doesn’t work?” Scylla mused._

_Anacostia, who was sat across from her and had been just…staring at her for the last few…hours, if Scylla was counting correctly, gave her a nonplussed look._

_Scylla nodded, “I read a report on it not long ago, conducted by the United States Senate Intelligence Committee. Quite an extensive document, took me a while to work through it, but it concluded rather decisively that torture doesn’t work,”_

_Anacostia rolled her eyes, straightening in her chair. “I seem to remember it working just fine,”_

_“‘Fine’? Is that what you’d call it?” Scylla raised an eyebrow._

_Anacostia was funny, Scylla realized, in that despite her harsh exterior, she wore her heart very much on her sleeve. Perhaps it was just because Scylla had always been good at reading people, but Anacostia wasn’t good at hiding that she had been falling apart since Scylla had let her in. The way she shifted in her chair and the general restless air about her. She was uncomfortable, and she was tired. There were bags under her eyes. Gone was the well-rested soldier that had been so self-assured that what she was doing was right._

_Scylla didn’t think that she was the only reason that Anacostia had started to doubt her convictions, but she liked to think she’d had a large part in it. They had something in common, and Scylla could see how it had affected the way they spent their time together._

_Anacostia had eased on the interrogation methods since Scylla had let her in. Probably because she was still feeling the remnants of their linking: Scylla herself still experienced some of the effects. The difference was that Scylla was used to the pain. Anacostia was not. Scylla was used to questioning herself, her convictions, and fortifying them because of those doubts, when all evidence pointed to the fact that she was right. Scylla was used to questioning authority and established order. Scylla had always been outside of the norm and had learned to develop herself accordingly. Anacostia had not. She was ill-equipped to deal with truths that contradicted what she held dear._

_She was vulnerable, despite trying not to show it. And Scylla was nothing if not an opportunist._

_“If you want to tell me that all you put me through has left you better off, then I won’t try to stop you,” Scylla said, sitting back in her chair and fixing Anacostia with a cool stare, “But of the two of us, who’s really broken right now?”_

_Anacostia glared at her and Scylla curled her lip, if only just._

_“You know nothing about me,” Anacostia said lowly._

_Scylla shrugged. “You memories beg to differ,”_

_That struck a nerve. She watched a dangerous look cross Anacostia’s features before she tried to school them._

_Scylla loved that she could get under people’s skin like that. It was a talent, and she was honestly surprised at how good she was at it sometimes._

_She purposefully broke their gaze, looking around the room as she continued, “Anyway, the report said that the best way to get information from prisoners is to go after their families. Not literally, of course. Rather, offer them opportunity or help, offer them protection and safety. Though, I have no family,” she let out a small laugh as she looked back to Anacostia, tilting her head, “So I suppose that wouldn’t have worked out so well for you, either. But at least you’d be able to sleep without seeing them burn,”_

_Anacostia winced, and Scylla almost felt bad. It was a traumatic thing to live through, to see. Which was why Scylla had chosen it. She forced down the feeling, because it was traumatic, yes – but so was torture. An eye for an eye._

_“They would have surrendered themselves, you know,” Scylla said, quietly. “Those agents knocked on the door of the safe house and didn’t wait for an answer before fire-bombing it. Blew the door open, set everything alight. That’s when my mom told me to run. She’d been right in front of the door when the explosion went off. I didn’t even know it had happened. Too shocked,”_

_Anacostia’s nostrils flared and she looked purposefully at the wall._

_“But my parents didn’t fight back. The military killed them, and everyone in that safe house, to make a point,”_

_Anacostia clenched her jaw. “I know,” she said quietly._

_Scylla nodded, because she knew that Anacostia knew. She’d likely relived the memory dozens of times, if not more, in the time since Scylla had shown her._

_Scylla didn’t want to ask, but she was curious. Clearly, Anacostia’s parents had been in a car crash, and had died because of it. But…were they not witches?_

_“Why don’t you just ask?” Anacostia inquired bitterly. “I can see you want to,”_

_Scylla shrugged, “It’s not my place,”_

_Anacostia snorted, “It’s your place to end thousands of lives, but not to ask about a couple of nobodies from your interrogator’s memory? Such wonderful social decorum,” she said flatly._

_Scylla eyed Anacostia. “It’s my place to do what has to be done to free witches from the very thing that killed my parents. That forced them on the run for most of their lives, and for the entirety of mine. They died because of mandatory conscription, and I fight in their honor to tear it down,”_

_“What would they think of what you’ve done?”_

_Scylla clamped her jaw shut, clenching her teeth._

_Her parents wouldn’t have understood. She knew that. She’d accepted it._

_Still, it stung, and from the look on Anacostia’s face, she’d realized that._

_“The ends justify the means,” Scylla said flatly._

_“You don’t believe that,” Anacostia sounded tired, and Scylla laughed._

_“Don’t I? Do tell, Anacostia,”_

_Anacostia just shook her head to herself. “What’s it like? Ending that many lives?”_

_Horrible. Scylla would be lying if she said anything else. It was horrible, but it was necessary. It was elating. Terrifying. Satisfying. Scary. It had filled her with a cacophony of chaotic opposites: calm and cortisol, resilience and desperation, euphoric in its destruction and simplicity, and horrific in its scale. She’d moved on from it fairly quickly. In many ways, it hadn’t felt real. Like a disjointed and disconnected memory. Like watching someone else, a being separate from her own._

_“It’s scary,” she settled on, surprised by the raw honesty in her voice._

_Anacostia snorted. “Think how it was for all of those people?”_

_Scylla shrugged, “Probably terrifying. It’s a scary thing, knowing you’re going to die. But we all go sometime, and we rarely have true control over it. May their sacrifice not have been in vain,” she said._

_Anacostia looked like Scylla had slapped her, “It wasn’t ‘their’ sacrifice: you killed them,”_

_“They signed their fate the minute their forefathers agreed to my very existence being a death sentence,”_

_“They’re innocent of that,”_

_“They’re complicit in it,” Scylla shot back._

_Anacostia, to even Scylla’s surprise, shook her head and laughed, letting her head fall back to look at the ceiling as she let out a frustrated noise, “Boy, they really got to you, huh? They made a believer out of you,”_

_“They didn’t have to,”_

_Anacostia looked at her, then. Really looked at her. Scylla maintained eye contact, coolly watching Anacostia watching her._

_“They didn’t,” Scylla insisted, feeling her own anger start to build within her. “Spree didn’t have to do a damn thing. I saw it all for myself. Do you know how many of our kind have died at the hands of civilians? Not even fighting their wars for them, not even counting the lives we’ve lost because of the Accord. But even before that. They have always hated us, and they only look to us now because of their fear. They want us on a leash,” she touched her collar for emphasis, “Or not at all,”_

_“Not all of them are like that,”_

_“Maybe not,” Scylla seethed, “But enough of them were that Alder felt like she had to cut a deal to stop them from killing us,”_

_“So proving to them that they do have something to fear is the way to show them that we’re not dangerous?”_

_Scylla bared her teeth, “I don’t want them to think we’re not dangerous. I want them to acknowledge that the way they have treated us is wrong, and to leave us the fuck alone. They started this, and Spree will end it,”_

_“‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,’”_

_“Oh, spare me,” Scylla snapped. “The world has been blind this whole time. Humans have started more wars than any witches have ever even considered. We’re nothing but weapons, sharpened to annihilate our own kind in the name of…what? Peace?” she laughed, “As long as there is a military, no one will know peace. As long as they force us to die for them, why should they feel safe at home? They should know what they ask of us. They should face the consequences of what they have done. This isn’t an eye for an eye. It’s recompense. It’s justice,”_

_“Killing others to prove that sending others to die is wrong isn’t justice, it’s just a cycle of violence,” Anacostia sighed._

_“It is not the responsibility of the persecuted to break that cycle,”_

_Anacostia sighed, frustrated. She rubbed her temples. “I never said it was,”_

_“You didn’t have to,” Scylla said, settling back in her seat from where she’d started to unintentionally lean forward. “It’s implied,”_

_Anacostia shook her head. “Aren’t you tired?” and her voice held an element of defeat. Of resignation. Like she finally accepted that Scylla was a lost cause, and there was really no point in trying to get anything more from her than what she already had._

_The question surprised Scylla, who took a moment to think, to ruminate on it. Tired of what? Literally tired? Yes, she was very tired. Sleeping upright, in a seated position, had never been her forte: she could do it, yes, but she did prefer to lie down. But sleeping in weird places and in odd positions was second nature for a Dodger._

_Otherwise…tired of the fight? Of the anger and the pain? Of the bloodshed? Of constantly having to be on her toes, never relaxing, always planning? Always feeling like her life was at risk, like she could die in an instant and it wouldn’t even matter? She had no one and now, no cause. No faction and no loyalties, and that was how her life had always been. No attachments made her the perfect terrorist. The perfect candidate for battle. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain, but there was so much at stake that staying alive out of spite had become the norm for her._

_Was she tired? Of the violence she’d wrought, and the violence wrought upon her, by strangers and by her own kind? Was she tired of constantly fighting?_

_Weren’t any of them?_

_“Aren’t you?” she finally asked back._

_Anacostia nodded, slowly._

_“They were by the book. No magic except on missions or base. They died waiting for help,”_

_Somehow, that was more tragic than what Scylla had been imaging._

_“They had every opportunity to save themselves, but they believed in the military. They believed that the military had their best interest at heart: they believed in observing the law to maintain civilian faith in what the witch army was. They believed it all,”_

_Scylla nodded. “They sound like they were good soldiers,”_

_“They were. They just wanted to do what was right.”_

_“And it cost them their lives,” Scylla said quietly, and Anacostia, for just the briefest of moments, had tears shining in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. “I hope their sacrifice was recognized,” she whispered, sincerely._

_Anacostia let out a bitter laugh, “Thanks, I guess.”_

_They fell into silence, Anacostia’s jaw working as she tried to rein in her emotions, and Scylla watching carefully, sympathetic._

_“And you?” she prompted suddenly, quietly. She tilted her head._

_“And me, what?” Anacostia asked._

_“They believed in everything about the military. Everything they were told, everything they learned. They died for that belief. What do you believe?”_

_“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” Anacostia said quietly._

_Scylla couldn’t disagree more, but she could tell that Anacostia wasn’t going to say anything else, and so she let it go._

\---

They were building a resistance. Anacostia Quartermaine, right-hand woman to General Sarah Alder herself, and Scylla Ramshorn, ex-Spree agent responsible for one of the largest and most heinous attacks on civilians ever carried out by the Spree. 

Honestly, if Raelle hadn’t been somewhat prepped for such an idea from her time at Terminer, and with Scylla in general – especially with all that Scylla had revealed to her near the end – she definitely would have looked exactly how the rest of her unit did, mouths agape, as Anacostia spoke to them.

“You three,” she said, near the end of catching them up quickly on the general alliance that she and Scylla had formed, “Are the last piece of the puzzle. We needed a unit that was well-known in the military, and well-respected. Collar,”

Raelle straightened in her seat, “Your time at Cotton Mather, and you agreeing to an interrogation with one of its most dangerous terrorists, earned you a reputation among even the higher ups there, as a good soldier. Alder believes that they broke you. Craven,”

Tally lifted her head, “Your Seeing abilities are so well known that bases as far North as the Arctic Circle in Alaska, and as far south as San José, have been requesting you to teach Seeing in Basic. And Bellweather,”

Abigail set her jaw, “Well…you’re a Bellweather. A military darling, through and through. Your work follows in the footsteps of the Bellweathers that have come before you, your talents just as visible. The point is, your unit is one of the most well-respected among top officials. Your abilities are known. As is your tenacity. Your bravery. You embody, in many ways, what the military wants itself to be seen as. I have no doubt that in a few years, you would be hired for appearing on military posters. And we want to help launch you to that point,”

“Come again?” Tally asked. 

Anacostia nodded, “We’ll give you the entire debriefing if you agree to our cause. But we won’t force you: the entire point of this isn’t so that you have no choice. The entire point of this is that you do. That we all, every witch, should have a choice. As much as it…as much as it pains me to admit, the military is wrong. It started as a good alternative to death, but it’s become nothing more than what it sought to stop. It is time for a change,

“Our plan is two-fold, and one of it is a unit of celebrity status denouncing the institution and what it does. The other, is to show that all of what you say is true,”

“How would you do that?” Raelle asked, furrowing her brow.

“Secret weapon,” Scylla answered, and Raelle looked at her. 

“What’s that?”

Scylla smiled, “That’s for me to worry about,”

Anacostia coughed, to bring the attention back to herself. “The strategy is risky, at best, but between the two prongs of attack, we think it stands a shot. The point is to minimize casualties, raise awareness, and push the natural pace of progress to a bit more of a break-neck speed. And, if it doesn’t work,” Anacostia frowned grimly, “It’s not like we have a whole hell of a lot to lose,”

“Brava,” Scylla agreed solemnly.

“We don’t want to overwhelm you now, with too much of the plan. We want you to be able to back out. There’s no guarantee this will work. But we saw our shot, and we’re hoping to take it. We believe the Bellweather unit is the most appropriate for the job, but we are willing to let you think about it, and you can give us your answers after having some time. If you decide that you don’t want to do this,” Anacostia eyed them, “Then we will have to wipe your memories, but only of your time here. Everything else will stay intact. We will leave you at the fire tower, which has a working radio that you can use to call for help, as intended, and we part ways. And if you agree…” Anacostia pursed her lips, “Then we continue on to Phase Two. Until we have answers though, ladies, I’m afraid we can’t take off the collars. I genuinely do apologize about that, but we simply can’t risk non-compliance in this matter,”

The room fell silent, but no one really protested, either. 

Finally, Tally spoke up. “How long do we have to decide?”

Anacostia pursed her lips, “As long as you need, though sooner rather than later would be ideal,”

“Why would we do this?” Abigail asked, skeptical.

“Because you don’t trust them, either,” Scylla piped up, and everyone turned to her. She nodded, “None of you do. I know Raelle doesn’t, and I trust her enough to trust you,”

Raelle felt her face flush. 

“Anacostia hasn’t told me much about the two of you, but I have heard enough. A Craven who believed in the military despite all it took from her, until it asked her to kill the very people she was trying to protect. And a Bellweather, who saw first-hand the destruction the military brings to the environments it takes advantage of, and the pressure it puts on its recruits to die for the cause, without ever being able to question that cause. If anyone would want to not force future generations to do the same,” she looked at them seriously, “It would be you. And if it’s not,” Scylla shook her head, “Then that’s on Anacostia and I, not you.”

And god, that sounded almost…reasonable? Raelle stared at her curiously. Even Abigail, she saw from the corner of her eye, seemed begrudgingly surprised by the compliment. Tally was looking at Scylla, perplexed. 

“Right,” Anacostia said, “If there are no more questions for now, I think we owe you ladies a quick tour, and to show you to your quarters. Any questions, do not hesitate to find me,”

“Or me,” Scylla said, a gloating smile on her face.

Anacostia rolled her eyes. “Or that one,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that report that Scylla cites is a real report, but it's actually from the United States Senate Committee on Intelligence, but it's okay, it's a long title and Scylla has a lot on her mind and she basically had it right. If you, dear reader, have any interest in the report, you can actually buy it on Amazon but apparently it's pretty lengthy, so you can also just get the SparkNotes version from John Oliver's segment on torture.
> 
> That's it for now! Let me know if you enjoyed it, hope you guys are all good and taking care of yourselves! Remember to drink some water and such and I'll see you soon for the next one! :)


	7. Paths of Least Resistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! As always, thank you so much for all the comments, they literally always make me so happy! 
> 
> Y'all. This update has been a hassle lmao, I uploaded it earlier as a draft and had to come back to it later but the wifi is out?? So last-minute edits were made on mobile: if you see any typos, that's why. I have been staring at my phone screen way too long, but same deal with any formatting issues: it's also because I'm on mobile and can't see them. As soon as wifi is up again, I'll take a look back and see if I need to change anything, but wanted to get the update out for ya!
> 
> No warnings, enjoy!

_"I don’t know what I believe,” Anacostia said. She said it as soon as she walked into Scylla’s cell, and Scylla raised an eyebrow as Anacostia started to pace, back and forth, radiating a nervous energy that had even Scylla on edge. She’d never seen Anacostia so shaken up, and she had to say: it was a bit of an unnerving sight. She straightened in her chair as Anacostia continued to pace, like an animal in a cage._

_“I don’t know what I believe anymore,” Anacostia said again, more muttering to herself than to Scylla specifically. She seemed to be fighting herself on something, and Scylla watched as she fell apart, right before her eyes, the fight leaving her as Anacostia finally slumped into the chair opposite Scylla. “Alder puppetted the President,” she said it so quietly that it took Scylla a moment to actually hear what she said._

_Scylla blinked, shocked. Alder had…puppetted the President? That was highly illegal, considered a war crime, and yet…_

_Scylla huffed through her nose and shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “I mean…I knew she had it in her but I didn’t…know she had it in her, you know?” she said seriously, perhaps just as shocked as Anacostia, though she had no doubt: not for the same reason._

_Anacostia shook her head, her disbelief written all over her face. Her eyes shone in the low light: unshed tears. Anger danced among them._

_“I never thought-”_

_Scylla rolled her eyes, “Didn’t you, really? Alder’s not very subtle about her power-hunger,”_

_Anacostia glared at her, and Scylla shrugged. “You can’t have missed it, Anacostia. You’re observant, and definitely smart. Certainly more so than most people who sit in that chair. Most just seem content to continue to torture me. It gets a bit boring, honestly.”_

_Anacostia buried her face in her hands, and Scylla could hear her taking in breath after measured breath, trying to calm herself._

_Scylla continued, “I know that you tend to be closer to Alder than most, no? Just based on how the two of you acted when you were both interrogating me. Begrudging closeness. Alder doesn’t like you,”_

_Anacostia snapped her head up at that, anger boiling in her expression._

_Scylla nodded, “Sees something in you, I think. A defiance. She doesn’t like that. You can’t have not noticed something like that. She’s not subtle. Only way you missed it is if you wanted to-”_

_“Shut up!” Anacostia shouted, and Scylla had to hold back her smile after she started at the sudden loudness. Oh, she’s really struck a nerve, now. No one had told her that breaking her interrogator could be…fun._

_Scylla shrugged, “Say what you want about Spree, but at least they were transparent about what they wanted from me. I was a body, nothing more. All of this torture is pretty useless: I was a pawn. They only needed me to be a soldier on the ground. An agent of chaos. I was all too happy to fill that role,”_

_“They took advantage of your pain,” Anacostia said lowly, her glare intense._

_Scylla pretended to think on that, for a moment. Had they taken advantage of her pain? Sure. But only because she’d wanted them to. She’d wanted to be their weapon, in whatever capacity they needed. But she didn’t have to tell Anacostia that._

_“Maybe so. But has the military not done the same thing with yours?”_

_Anacostia was up like a shot, nearly knocking over her chair, and she started pacing again. “No,” she said, after a moment, “No, they didn’t. The military gave me a home,”_

_“The Spree gave me one, too,” Scylla said softly, losing some of her edge as she watched Anacostia slowly fall apart before her once more._

_Anacostia shook her head, as though physically trying to shake Scylla’s words from her ears._

_“No, not like that!” she shouted, but quickly reined herself in, pinching the bridge of her nose and breathing deeply, trying to compose herself. “The military would never ask me to kill thousands of innocent people-”_

_Scylla furrowed her brow, “Do you really believe that, though?” she gently challenged, keeping her voice soft. Anacostia was on the precipice of something: a breakthrough, a realization, and Scylla wasn’t going to antagonize her through it (much as a part of her may want to). If Quartermaine was starting to realize military corruption, it would be beneficial for Scylla to hold her hand for the jump, rather than push her forward over that ledge… “Do you think that Alder wouldn’t order you to kill however many people, if it meant getting to Spree? She has you in here, using interrogation techniques that have been outlawed several times over, against me. She’s puppetted the President of the United States-”_

_“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Anacostia snapped, and Scylla looked at her: Anacostia’s chest heaving from losing the battle of controlling her emotions, her eyes wild. Afraid. Oh, Scylla could smell the fear. She was all too familiar with it. Anacostia’s world was crumbling around her._

_Scylla leaned back in her chair, taking a few calming breaths of her own. Pushing Anacostia’s buttons, as fun as it was, wouldn’t be wise. She was hurt, in pain, and if there was one thing Scylla knew, it was pain._

_“Spree gave me a home, and a place to put my pain when I didn’t have anywhere else to go. They didn’t make me do anything that I wasn’t already chomping at the bit to do. For a long time, it was a mutually beneficial relationship. Until, of course,” she shook her chains for emphasis, “It wasn’t. You’ve been good to the military, and the military has been good to you in return. But would they still stand by you if you brought up these concerns? Would Alder still treat you well if you challenged her? Does she even treat you well now?” Scylla cocked her head._

_Anacostia shook her head, grabbing the back of her chair and leaning on it, grip tight as she tried to maintain her composure. “Alder wants you transferred,” Anacostia bit out._

_Scylla raised her eyebrows._

_Anacostia continued, “She wants you sent to our prison in the Caribbean. It’s the kind of place that no one comes back from,”_

_Scylla felt the bile in her throat but fought it down. She’d always known, when she joined Spree, that there was a chance she would die for the cause. She would have preferred suicide bomb herself, or in battle, something a bit more grandiose and romantic than simple execution, but still…she’d known it was a possibility._

_She swallowed, audibly, and that seemed to at least snap Anacostia, somewhat, out of her own internal spiral. Scylla laughed, the sound hollow even to her own ears. “One less witch in the world, then,” she said, unable to think of anything else._

_“One less terrorist,” Anacostia bit back._

_Scylla snorted, “Oh please, Anacostia. Don’t pretend Alder wouldn’t do the same to you,”_

_“I didn’t kill sixteen-hundred people so no, she wouldn’t,”_

_“Maybe she wouldn’t send you to the Caribbean, but there are plenty of active warzones, no? Try to challenge her, see where they send you to die. I hear China’s been a hotspot lately,”_

_Anacostia didn’t say anything, turning her back abruptly and leaving Scylla where she had been for – if she was counting correctly – something just over two weeks._

\---

Anacostia gave them a tour of the compound, starting from their little meeting room which, she told them, was basically their “office” of sorts, and if she or Scylla were outside of their quarters, they would likely be in there. 

“Knock before you come in, though,” she instructed firmly. 

From there, they wound through the compound, which was smaller than Raelle thought it would be, and with more people than she’d first realized. 

“It’ll take you a while, but you’ll get used to the layout. With time, you’ll learn where everything is.”

There were exactly two ways in or out of the compound, and each had their own seeds. 

“There is also a self-destruct seed, in case our cover is ever blown. Only Ramshorn and I know it, and no,” she shot them all a look, “We will not be telling it to you,”

Abigail rolled her eyes at that, but they continued on the tour. There was one mess hall (“No assigned meal times, ladies. Food is supplied and cooked in the kitchen: you cook your own or you cook for everyone, if you’re feeling generous”) that lead directly into the Rec room, which was the large room they had passed through on their way to the office. It looked like it was more of a small warehouse, though, with all the people at stations, working on whatever it was they were doing. 

Raelle felt pretty disoriented as they continued walking, but she could tell that Tally, with her head held high and on constant swivel, taking everything in, likely had it already memorized. 

Sometimes, Raelle genuinely envied Tally’s abilities. Raelle knew she was going to spend most of the week helplessly lost, and made a mental note to get to know as many people milling about as she could: if for nothing else, than to have a guide. 

From the Rec they traipsed down another hall that ended in a door, and Anacostia told them that through it were most of the barracks and dorms, which were shared by everyone in the compound and pretty hap-hazard.

And lastly, they were led down another hall and let into a room, which turned out to be theirs. 

“This is where you ladies will be staying. For now, you’ll have it to yourselves, but if our numbers continue to grow, we can’t guarantee that it’ll remain that way. Here, we all have to pitch in: we’re all fighting for the same things. I’ll leave you to get settled. I’m down the hall if you need anything,” and just like that, she’d cut them loose, closing the door behind her. 

Raelle looked around the room. It was about half the size of their dorm at Basic, though it was certainly much sparser, with three straw mattresses on the ground and a few more tucked into the corner, stacked, awaiting use. Their one remaining backpack, which Scylla had been carrying on their arrival, was propped up against the wall. Scylla had disappeared at the beginning of their tour, so she must have dropped it off, and Raelle suddenly felt restless. 

Scylla. Scylla Ramshorn, the perpetrator of the mall attack that had taken the lives of sixteen-hundred civilians…was working with Anacostia Quatermaine. 

Did…did Anacostia…know?

Raelle shook her head to herself. Obviously Anacostia knew. She’d been Scylla's interrogator at Fort Salem, and if there was one thing Scylla had been good at, it was taunting her interrogators with memories of the attack. 

Clearly, Raelle’d missed a lot, and she needed answers. 

She looked at her unit, who also were staring around the room, looking entirely unsure. 

“Well…that was weird,” Abigail said, honestly. She plopped herself down on a mattress and ran a hand through her hair, and Tally continued slowly turning in circles, looking curiously at the blank walls around her. 

“There is a lot more to this compound than Anacostia told us about,” she said quietly, “But much of it seems to not be reinforced, so that makes sense. They likely don’t know those passages exist…”

Raelle hissed as her palm started pulsing, though thankfully without much pain. She looked at it, redness coming through. 

She was being called…to where, she wasn’t sure, but…she had a hunch. She didn’t know how she knew, but she pressed her fingers into the mark and closed her eyes, a flash of warm golden sunlight filtering through trees shimmered behind her eyelids, 

“Do you um…do you guys remember how to get back to where we came in?” she asked, eyes still closed, 

She opened them to see both of her unit-mates looking at her curiously, and she tried not to blush. 

“I just…want to get my bearings,” she said. Not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth, either. 

“I think Anacostia said the medic wing was just around the corner from the Rec room,” Abigail said, raising her eyebrows as Raelle continued to massage her palm. 

Raelle rolled her eyes, “I’m not trying to be sneaky about going to find a medic, Bellweather,”

“But you’re being sneaky about something,” she shot back, and Raelle sighed. 

“I just…I have a lot on my mind,” she said honestly.

“Scylla?” Tally piped up, and Raelle sighed again, dropping her hands. There was no point in trying to lie to her unit.

“Yeah,” she said honestly, resigned. 

Abigail narrowed her eyes, "Scylla? As in, the literal terrorist we just met? That Scylla?"

Raelle felt a spark of anger that she quickly snuffed out. Abigail had a right to say it, and to say it the way the had: suspicious and distrusting. Neither she nor Tally knew Scylla, after all.

Did Raelle even know her, really? She couldn't say...

Still, she bit the inside of her cheek and nodded wordlessly.

Abigail eyed her like she had six heads. "So, what, that thing on your palm is for her to call you? What are you, her lap dog?"

Raelle glared at Abigail, that spark of anger back, but Tally sighing stopped her from opening her mouth. "Do you need to see her?"

Raelle clenched her jaw, but nodded.

Tally bobbed her head as well, "Is there anything we can do to stop you?" She sounded like she already knew the answer.

Which...she did. They all already knew the answer. They were family, found as it was, and that meant, more than anyone, that her unit knew Raelle's stubborn streak. 

"Raelle-" Abigail started, using her authoritative voice as though they were back in Basic.

Raelle cut her off, "Look," she sighed, "I-I'm sorry. That I didn't tell you guys about her and about this and about everything. But, Scylla, she's-" Raelle shook her head. She couldn't say what Scylla was, and she wasn't going to try in that moment. "She, and I, we-we um, went through a lot, at Cotton Mather. A lot." she held up her swelling palm for emphasis, "And I just...I need to talk to her. If she's here, and with Anacostia, and..." Raelle trailed off, because she couldn't think of what else to tell her unit. She needed answers. She needed confirmation. She needed...to see Scylla.

The full story was too long to tell them in that moment, but she needed them to understand, and she knew that there was a pleading look on her face because Abigail's expression softened, if only just.

Abigail stared at Raelle, eyeing her, before finally making a decision, her shoulders slumping. "Don't think we're not going to talk about this when you get back," Abigail said, resigned, yet folding her arms to show she was against the idea of Raelle leaving at all.

“It’s out to the hall, two rights, a left, and one more right,” Tally said.

Raelle nodded once, to show that she had heard, before sending her unit a small, appreciative smile. She turned without another word to head out the door. 

“And Raelle?" Abigail called, and Raelle stiffened, hand on the doorknob. "Be careful,” her tone was surprisingly soft: concerned. 

Raelle turned, and, upon seeing Abigail's genuinely worried expression, sighed.

"I will," she assured, Abigail nodding, though with a clenched jaw.

“You remember the seed?” Tally asked, the innocuous question breaking some of the tension.

“Yes mom,” Raelle rolled her eyes before heading out the door.

\---

_Scylla would be lying, if she said she was ready to die. She’d accepted it as an inevitably: being Necro, she knew death was more complicated than most people realized. Not as cut and dry, not as black and white. Life was always in a cycle. But that didn’t mean starting a new part of her own cycle didn’t scare the shit out of her. She tried not to let it show, tapping her foot incessantly and not allowing her body to show any other signs of distress. She was willing to die for the cause, she always had been, and she still was. She was grimly ready to accept her fate, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a little bit fucking terrifying, and she’d cycled, exhaustively, though nearly every emotion she’d ever had, and quite possibly a few she hadn’t. Anger, denial, fear, righteousness, resignation, defiance, panic, elation, it came like a fucking Tilt-a-Whirl. She’d had a good run, and, at the very least, she could say that she’d pulled more than sixteen-hundred souls down with her. At least she wasn’t going into the next cycle of life and death having done nothing for the advancement of her kind. It was the only comfort she had, and so she clung to it tightly, worrying her lip until it bled._

_Not that it mattered, anymore. Nothing mattered now. Truly, all the chips were down. She had nothing to lose._

_Nothing, but everything. No one would miss her, no one would mourn her. It was better that way, but still, it was…a lonely death. Surrounded by executioners who viewed her only as a monster. Killed by her own kind. It made her snort out loud to herself as her cell door opened._

_Anacostia walked in, and Scylla’s foot tapped faster. Harder. She pushed down the rest of her immediate reactions: fear, disgust, panic. She had lasted this long without breaking in front of Anacostia, so why would she start now?_

_Anacostia shut the door quietly behind her._

_Scylla clenched her jaw. “You’re early. By at least a few hours,” Scylla observed, not bothering to hide the fact that she’d been keeping track of the shifts. “Time for me to die, then?” she asked flatly, her voice surprisingly even, but she knew that Anacostia had picked up on her bouncing leg and therefore, her nervousness._

_“What if I let you go?”_

_Scylla furrowed her brow, sure that she’d heard that wrong._

_“What-”_

_“Shut up,” Anacostia said urgently, coming forward into the room, “I don’t have a lot of time. I’m not supposed to be here. What if I let you go?”_

_“Spree won’t take me back,” Scylla said, surprisingly honest, but it was true, and the urgency in Anacostia’s voice was absolutely contagious. What the hell was going on? “I’d have nowhere to go, just on the run-”_

_“Could you do it, though?”_

_Scylla shook her head, “I-what? I could, yes, but-”_

_“We’d have to make it look convincing-” Anacostia said, starting to pace._

_Scylla stared in total confusion, “What?! No, I wouldn’t want to do that again, I-”_

_“You’d be alive, though,” Anacostia rounded on her, and Scylla flinched._

_“Yeah, but hardly. I’ve lived my whole life like that. I’d rather die than do it again,” she said defiantly, setting her jaw. It didn’t matter, at that moment, that that wasn’t exactly true…_

_“You just very well might,” Anacostia reminded her sharply._

_Scylla didn’t back down though, lifting her chin. Life on the run was not an option: she was tired. Spree wouldn’t take her, military would hunt her, she’d just be right back at square one. There was nowhere for her, and the realization hit her hard, but she refused to break, glaring at Anacostia to prevent the tears that she suddenly felt springing into her eyes from falling._

_“Then I die,” Scylla said, with far more conviction and confidence than she felt._

_Anacostia rubbed her temples, and Scylla furrowed her brow as she watched Anacostia feverishly thinking._

_“Why does it matter to you? Why would you want to let me go?” she asked, actually hesitant._

_“I don’t know,” Anacostia said honestly, shaking her head. “I don’t know! I don’t know what to do or what to think, anymore. What if…if you can’t escape, I delay your transfer?”_

_“Can you do that?”_

_“Fuck,” Anacostia muttered, and started pacing again. “I don’t know,”_

_“Anacostia,” Scylla said, if for nothing else, than to get her to stop pacing. It was putting Scylla even more on edge. “What are you saying? Why are you doing this for me?”_

_Anacostia stopped, looking at Scylla with such an odd mix of confusion and pain that it almost took Scylla’s breath away._

_“I don’t know,” she said, sounding defeated. “I don’t know!”_

_And oh, her panic was palpable. Just like their last visit, Anacostia was barely holding it together, and Scylla leaned back in her chair, processing._

_“I think-” she started, and Anacostia looked at her. Scylla chewed on her words, choosing them carefully. “I think that you’re starting to realize that…that maybe I’m right. That maybe I’m not the monster, here. That maybe…some of what I’ve said is correct. That maybe…despite what I’ve done…maybe I have a point,”_

_Anacostia shook her head, “I don’t know what I think right now, Ramshorn,” she said honestly, a hint of defeat in her voice, “But I can’t let them kill you until I know. Until I can make sense of this,”_

_“I got to you,” Scylla said it quietly, almost…in awe. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud: she didn’t want to trigger some kind of denial response or relapse on Anacostia’s part, vehemently rejecting what she was slowly starting to see, but it was truly…a marvel. Scylla knew she was right…but it was another matter entirely, to have someone else see it, too. To have convinced someone of it, even if they were only at the beginning stages of their realization._

_“You did nothing,” Anacostia insisted, and Scylla raised her eyebrow ever so slightly. Anacostia’s fists went to her temples again and she pressed, before quietly confessing, “I don’t know what to think because of all of this. Alder’s essentially announced martial law. She puppetted the President. She’s sent so many of my cousins into missions that she knew would likely be suicides. I don’t know what to think anymore. So yes, maybe you do have a point, maybe things aren’t as I thought, maybe something has to change, and maybe me just letting you go is my answer to it,”_

_“What if we change it?”_

_Scylla didn’t know why she said it: the words had come out before any concrete thought had formed in her head. She didn’t know what prompted her to say it, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized she could use it. If Anacostia bought it…if Anacostia heard it and thought on it and maybe believed it, she could use it to her advantage._

_She almost felt like laughing, though from a nervous giddiness that arose within her as she realized that the half-formed, feverish thought…was one she could use. To get Anacostia on her side. To get Anacostia to free her. To maybe get out of this hell hole and…and what? Head back to Spree?_

_The thought felt like a cold bucket of water, realization hitting her that truly…she couldn’t go back. Spree would kill her, or at the very least, torture her, and what good did it do her to leave one captor for another? It seemed stupid, now that she’d had even a moment to think on it…_

_Anacostia snorted, but Scylla sat straighter in her chair, forcing aside the quiet panic she could feel building, instead trying to channel some air of feverish confidence. She only had one shot to convince Anacostia to do this, and…well, from there, she didn’t know. But it would buy her time, and that was the most important thing, in that moment._

_“No, seriously. What if we change it?” she asked, mustering up a convincing amount of adamancy in her voice. “Think about it!” she said, leaning forward, trying to catch Anacostia’s eye, “Think about it: I can’t go back to Spree. At best they’d never trust me again, at worst, they’d kill me. I can’t go on the run again, because that’s no way for me to live. The military certainly will never let me back and I’d rather die than go back, and you would definitely never join Spree,”_

_Anacostia’s lip curled merely at the thought, and Scylla started nodding vigorously, “But you want change, right?”_

_Anacostia was looking at Scylla as though she was crazy, and maybe she was. The raving ramblings of a dead woman. A way to evade death and punishment._

_But Anacostia had proven herself to be a woman not beyond reason, and maybe it was stupid – a plea said in desperation, the last prayer of a prey animal trying to strike a bargain with her predator – but she realized…she didn’t have anything to lose, did she? A fake alliance, to get Anacostia on her side, to assure Scylla's survival...to give her time. And that, she needed, to figure out her next steps. If she could use it...if she could convince Anacostia..._

_Scylla was surprised to hear a genuine almost…plea in her voice as she continued. “Then we form an alliance. Ex-Spree and military, think about what we know! What we could accomplish together, what we could do-”_

_Anacostia shook her head, “Now I know you’ve officially lost it,”_

_Scylla shook her head, "No_ _, this could really be something. We could really do something, Anacostia!”_

_Anacostia laughed, actually laughed, but it was disbelieving and hollow and Scylla nearly recoiled, as though Anacostia had slapped her. Still, she glared adamantly even as Anacostia shook her head, and turned and left her cell without another word._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. That scene with the unit and Raelle leaving to go find Scylla. You have no idea how many times I've re-written that scene. I'm still not satisfied with it but I hope it's believable for their characters. 😅😬
> 
> Anyway, with any luck I'll be in my new place for the next update so hopefully I won't have to worry about the wifi being stupid. Just in case though, a fair warning: it may be a day late. 
> 
> Hope you liked the update, thanks for reading and enjoying!


	8. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! As usual, thank you for the comments and kudos, I'm actually really glad that you guys thought that scene between the unit worked well! Tbh that one was definitely the best version of all the ones I've written before, but you know how it is: you stare at a scene too long and you sort of start to lose it. 😅
> 
> I'm having a surprising amount of last-minute edits on this story, which isn't a bad thing! But man, just when you think you're done with something, huh? :P 
> 
> Anyway, no warnings apply for this chapter! Except maybe like, you know, Raylla finally have a nice lil' chat, which they deserve. Our poor bbs finding each other after so much time apart!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It took a lot of repeating Abigail’s directions in her head, but Raelle finally did find the exit, and climbed out into the dying sunlight, squinting and shielding her eyes as she looked around.

She spotted Scylla, just at the base of the fire tower, sat on the ground and leaning against one of the metal legs. 

She sent Raelle a smile, tilting her head invitingly. “Took you long enough,”

Raelle walked towards her, unsure. Her palm pulsed dully, and so as she approached, she asked the first question that came to mind. 

“You’ve been activating it this whole time?” she held out her palm for emphasis. 

Scylla nodded. “I wasn’t sure it was working,” she said seriously, quietly looking down at her own palm. She traced her S path out onto it, though unlike Raelle’ hand, which started burning and welting, nothing happened on Scylla’s.

Raelle scoffed, “That hardly seems fair,”

Scylla smiled wanly, “Life’s not fair, Raelle Collar,”

Raelle sat herself down before Scylla, without an invitation, but still knowing she was welcome to. 

“You’re really out,” Raelle said, still slightly in disbelief. 

It was…surreal. It was so weird, to see Scylla outside of prison. Outside of her Red uniform. Outside of her cell. She looked…better. Healthier. Her face had a healthy look to it where before she’d been all sharp and sallow angles. Her eyes were still sharp but not as guarded, and her hair looked healthier. A weight had been lifted from her. And in civilian clothes…honestly, she looked like an entirely different person. 

Raelle remembered how, not hours before, she’d been disguised as Porter, and she shuddered.

“I’m really out,” Scylla confirmed. They fell into silence then, Raelle observing Scylla, and Scylla observing her right back. It felt…different, to see her on such equal footing. Outside of her cell, she looked like anyone else. She’d changed out of Porter’s uniform into plain, somewhat casual garb: a pair of loose cargo pants – definitely military surplus – and a simple heather-grey t-shirt. 

“Anacostia busted you out,” Raelle finally continued, choosing to push aside all of her questions and to start with the most obvious ones: the ones that had led them to where they were now. 

“Well,” Scylla scrunched her features, “In a manner of speaking. Anacostia got me a prison transfer. For all intents and purposes, I’ve been sent to the Caribbean. For any who care to dig through the paperwork, I was executed two months ago. To the day, I believe,” she said, with equal parts chipper intonations and bitterness. “It’s unfortunate for the military that my death didn’t stick, but I’m resilient like that,” she shrugged, “Being Necro and all.”

Raelle knew she was joking, but the thought of Scylla…dead, honestly sort of left a lump in her throat. She didn’t want to examine why. 

Scylla was a terrorist. Raelle knew that. But she’d be lying if she said that she hadn’t realized that Scylla was more than that. Scylla was pain, personified. A righteous reckoning for injustices committed against her and her kind. Raelle had seen Scylla, truly, and there was no going back from that. She couldn’t look at Scylla and see someone who was wrong: only someone who had done wrong, in the name of what was right.

And at the end of the day, the same thing could be said about Raelle. About Anacostia. About any human being, witch or not, to have ever walked the face of the Earth. 

Raelle had accepted that, and in the quietest of nights, she would admit to herself that she cared, in some twisted way, for Scylla. Not like Scylla had wanted her to: no flirting with a terrorist for her, thanks. But she’d recognized Scylla’s humanity, and once she’d seen it, she couldn’t willfully ignore it. There was a righteousness in Scylla that was admirable, and a charming air about her that made it impossible to entirely ignore her or write her off. It was what kept Raelle up at night, sometimes: thinking about Scylla. Wondering about that particular detainee in her cell, wasting away. A shame, really.

Somehow, it had never really occurred to Raelle that Scylla could exist outside of a cell, and seeing her as such was still honestly a bit of a shock. Yes, in theory, she knew that they had walked the same halls at Fort Salem, traipsed the same paths and possibly even crossed them, at some point. But that had been in a past in which she was none the wiser. Now was the present, in which she was face to face with Scylla Ramshorn, with less than six feet between them and no concrete wall, no cell door. Only air that danced in the setting sunlight

It felt like a different lifetime. An alternate universe. For a moment…Raelle could allow herself to forget it all. To forget everything and just…admire Scylla as she was meant to be seen. Beautiful, charismatic. 

Free.

Raelle worried at her lip, surprised (but not really) by the realization. She’d known Scylla was beautiful, yes, but seeing her in this light made it all the more obvious. 

“So…” Raelle shook her head, trying to organize her thoughts, “what, you two…cooked up a plan together?”

Scylla nodded seriously. “Yes. And no. We never really had much of a plan. Just fever dreams and ideas, and hopes,”

“So you’re like…best buds now?”

Scylla snorted, “Oh yes, thick as thieves.” She said it sarcastically. 

Raelle couldn’t help but smile a little. “Anacostia can be a hard-ass,”

“I know,” Scylla said, suddenly serious, “But she’s a reasonable one. If you had told me, before all of this…if someone had told me that I would be working with her, side by side, on a top-secret resistance faction against conscription, the military, and the Spree, I would never in a million years have believed them. She’s everything I fought against as Spree…”

“So what changed?” Raelle asked, tilting her head. 

“I did. She did,” Scylla fixed her with an appraising look. “Like you and I, she and I saw each other. We found each other at that line in the sand and we scuffed our boots over it,”

“And you’ve been working together ever since?”

“Yes,” Scylla said seriously. 

Raelle laughed. She couldn’t help it. She laughed and shook her head to herself and muttered, quietly “Goddess, this is insane,”

“Is it?” Scylla asked, raising her eyebrow, and Raelle laughed even more. 

“Yes, it is! It’s…this is so fucking weird! I left that island thinking I would never see you again!”

“Did you think of me, Raelle Collar?” Scylla asked, tilting her head, curiosity and amusement dancing in her eyes in equal measures. 

Raelle bit her lip, suddenly entirely too unsure of how to answer. 

Had she thought of Scylla? 

Yes. More than she cared to admit. She couldn’t help but replay their conversations in her head, over and over again. Couldn’t help but remember the sincerity in Scylla’s voice when they’d found their odd little middle ground, a no-man’s land of understanding. She sometimes existed in that space, allowing herself to see Scylla, not as a terrorist but as a rational being.

Because in the dead of night, safely tucked into her barracks at Fort Salem, Raelle could allow fantasy to reign free – because she would never see Scylla again, and she didn’t have to put on airs about where her loyalties lay when there was no one to constantly question her. In the dead of night, quiet and alone…anything could be possible. And with the coming of the morning, she could bury those feelings: let them die in the harsh light of day, only slightly ashamed of how she ached for that odd little connection despite herself.

But she didn’t have to answer Scylla’s question honestly. She didn’t have to tell Scylla that she’d thought of her, that she’d wondered about her, that she’d traced her own palm countless times, wondering if Scylla could feel it. Would it bring her comfort? Would she need it? Were they torturing her, and would the memories of Raelle’s little acts of kindness really be able to carry her through?

Apparently, none of that was true. Scylla had been free for…goddess, she didn’t even know for how long. 

“Because I thought about you,”

The confession was…quiet. Uncharacteristic of Scylla, and Raelle looked at her as she looked down at the ground, where her fingers were playing with blades of grass. 

Raelle stared, surprised by the confession. Now that she’d said it, it seemed kind of…obvious. Raelle’s palm had been burning so much the last few months-

“You were trying to communicate with me?” she asked, holding out her palm once again. 

Scylla smiled wanly. “It doesn’t really…work quite that way. I’m afraid I never got it past the rudimentary stages of simple signaling, but…it is why you probably felt it a lot. I couldn’t…every time I thought of you, I couldn’t stop myself. You were one of the best things about that place, and I mean that sincerely. And I’d apologize for everything, all the confusion and subterfuge to get you here, but,” she tilted her head again, mischief dancing in her eyes. “I’m not sorry,”

“Of course you’re not,” Raelle said, shaking her head. 

“I’m serious, Raelle. I’m happy to see you,” the sincerity sent a shiver down Raelle’s spine. 

No. No, she wasn’t going to indulge this…whatever it was. Now…now, it was too real. Now was not a quiet moment in her bed in the dead of night. Now was bright, illuminated by soft sunlight, shining onto harsh truths that Raelle refused to look beyond.

“Yeah, well. A warning would be nice, next time,” she tried to be firm, but she knew it fell flat. 

Scylla quirked an eyebrow at her. “Sure, beautiful. Next time I’m planning a revolution, I’ll be sure to send you a telegram. Though, in my defense,” she tapped her palm, “I gave you plenty of hints,”

Raelle sighed, running a hand through her hair. “So you’re just…what, leader of the resistance, now? Resistance to what?”

“To the military. To Spree. To mandatory conscription. That’s what this all boils down to, Raelle. It’s what this has always boiled down to,”

“And Anacostia’s on board with tearing down the military?” Raelle asked, skeptical.

Scylla shrugged, “She’s here, isn’t she? I don’t know if she’s okay with it, Raelle, but I think she sees the necessity in it. It’s hard, turning against ideals you once held dear,” Scylla leaned her head back against the fire tower base. “But for change, sometimes it is necessary. Anacostia sees that, same as I do. Our alliance is…unconventional, I’ll admit. But…it works,”

“I have so many questions,” Raelle said quietly.

Scylla nodded, “We figured you would,”

“No, not…not for you and Anacostia. I mean, I have those too,” Raelle sighed, “But I mean, for you,” she said it quietly. The words hung between them in the air, Scylla uncharacteristically silent. “I can’t think of any right now,” she confessed, pulling at the grass herself, for some kind of distraction: something to do with her hands. 

“Well, I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to ask them, now,” Scylla said with a half-shrug. “We can just sit here and…enjoy the sunset,”

“Do you do this every night?” Raelle found herself asking. 

Scylla nodded. “When I can. It’s nice, to not have to see it through a concrete wall,”

Raelle nodded to herself as well, shredding the grass in her hand. She bit her lip, turning slightly to squint at the dying daylight through the trees. It wasn’t easy to see, but through the branches, she could make out the slope of a mountain and little streams of light told her where the sun was setting. It was…beautiful and peaceful and weird, so weird, and yet…she found herself standing up, only to turn on her feet and plop herself back down, this time next to Scylla, facing the sunset. She crossed her legs, pretzel-style, and kept fidgeting with the ball of grass in her hands. She didn’t acknowledge her new position, and neither did Scylla, and in silence, they watched the sun disappear and night start to fall.

\---

_They came for her not long after, four military police and Anacostia, who held the decree for the prison transfer in her hand, her usual stoic expression on her face, and Scylla stared at her with a mix of contempt and disappointment._

_She’d had some time to herself, to think. She’d said her proposal in desperation, with the need to convince a foe that she was actually a friend…she’d said it with the intent of deception, but her own logic was working through her: a revelation. It was…sure, it was a crazy idea, what she’d blurted out to Anacostia. But, and she was surprised to realize it…it made sense. Her mind had actually started going a mile a minute, making connections and seeing possibilities, and in those few hours of reflection, she realized that while it had been an idea entirely born from self-preservation…it had potential. It had_ real _potential._

_In the stillness of her cell after Anacostia had departed, she thought about it. She didn’t know what they could do, truly, but Scylla had always been about adaptability. About figuring things out as she went. Of learning new skills as they presented themselves, seizing opportunities that few seldom even noticed. Scylla was good at making something from nothing, she always had been, and were they to team up, they wouldn’t have nothing: they would have her street smarts, and Anacostia’s military intel. They would have all of the tricks (and then some) that Spree had taught her, or hadn’t realized they’d taught her and that she’d then bastardized. She and Anacostia would have their combined military training. Their respective connections._

_What they could do with all of it, she wasn’t sure, but she was sure they could do something. To not try was to squander an opportunity that could change the fucking world, but a part of her understood that it was truly an absurd plan. And on top of that, Anacostia would have a lot more to lose than Scylla did, but still…wouldn’t the risk be worth it? If the reward was real change…_

_Anacostia read the decree as the military police un-cuffed Scylla from her chair and then re-cuffed her for transfer._

_“Be it known that on this day, Scylla Ramshorn is hereby sentenced to Detaineeship at Cotton Mather Detention Camp, to serve term indefinitely for her crimes against humanity-”_

_Scylla's head snapped up despite herself and she stared at Anacostia, shocked. Cotton Mather Detention Camp wasn’t exactly a plush prison…in fact, it was considered the worst of the worst. It was supposed to be a secret, but secrets were poorly kept when it came to detention camps that violated the Hague Convention. The world over knew about Cotton Mather, even if it turned a blind eye._

_But…Cotton Mather wasn’t in the Caribbean._

_Scylla stared as the military police started escorting her out, but Anacostia refused to meet her gaze._

_Cotton Mather Detention Camp_

_To serve term indefinitely-_

_She’d done it. Anacostia’d not only delayed the transfer…she’d changed it._

_Elation, thankfulness, rose in Scylla’s chest in equal measure, though they wouldn’t last long._

\---

Scylla ended up walking Raelle back to her room once the sun had set. She’d offered as they entered the compound and Raelle’d politely declined, only to have to accept when she promptly went down the wrong hallway and heard Scylla laughing behind her. 

Thankfully, her unit had already settled in for bed, though Tally lifted her head from her pillow when Raelle walked in, but she didn’t say anything, just nodded and settled back in to sleep. 

The morning was a different story, though. 

They made their way to the kitchen, hungry from not having properly eaten anything the night before, besides the few rations they had left, tucked into the bottom of the rucksack. Raelle, for her part, hadn’t eaten anything, staying out with Scylla until after sundown, neither of them talking until Scylla mentioned they should head back inside. 

Raelle didn’t know how she felt about it. On the one hand…sitting with Scylla had been nice. There was something between them, in the weighted but calm silence, that unnerved Raelle. Scylla was a terrorist, and despite the fact that Anacostia seemed to trust her, and indeed, in many ways, Raelle also did…she just couldn’t forget that fact. Much as a part of her seriously seemed to want to. Scylla had a sort of…dark charm to her. A magnetism that threatened to suck Raelle in. But things were different, now that she wasn’t in a cell. It was easier to forget what she was, and Raelle couldn’t allow that to happen. It was one thing to trust a terrorist in a cell: to even allow herself an odd and twisted fantasy, but it was quite another to handle Scylla free from her confines, looking entirely too normal and non-threatening. 

It didn’t take her unit long to question her about it, either, as they made their way through the halls, Tally leading. 

“So, Raelle. Scylla…” Abigail brought up. 

Raelle groaned softly, but knew she couldn’t escape it. Nor should she try: her unit deserved that much. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, I guess, first off: you never told us you got a terrorist’s name?”

“Or that you got to know her so well?” Tally piped up. 

Raelle sighed, “I didn’t get to know her _that_ well-”

“She literally marked your palm, Raelle,” Abigail interjected, serious. 

“I didn’t know she’d done that,” Raelle reminded them. 

The truth was…she hadn’t told her unit a lot about Scylla. About Detainee Thirteen. Just the bare-bones basics, especially once her palm started burning on base. Once that had started, she’d needed to tell them something, and so told them the abridged version: Detainee Thirteen was dangerous, that she’d injured several officers during their interrogation that she’d requested, and that she’d been punished for it. 

Raelle really wasn’t sure what else there she could have told them. She wasn’t going to tell her unit that she’d formed a sort of twisted bond with a prisoner who was remorseless in her pursuit of liberation. She certainly wasn’t going to tell them that she’d smuggled in a book for her, and that the detainee had a friend in the military, nor that none of Detainee Thirteen’s collars were apparently entirely operational. It didn’t seem like information to tell them: it would put them, as well as Raelle, at risk for disciplinary action. If her palm hadn’t started burning so much, she wouldn’t have even told them anything, but alas, Scylla had left her little choice in the matter.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her unit…she did. She trusted them with her life and with so much more, but she didn’t want them to suffer consequences for her actions, and telling them anything more than necessary about Scylla would have been a risk she was not willing to take. 

Of course, circumstances had changed…

“So I’m guessing there are a few details you left out,” Abigail said, her tone only slightly accusatory, but mostly sympathetic. She’d had some time to cool down, which was good.

Raelle sighed, “Yes, but I swear, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to tell you,” she muttered, and Abigail and Tally both nodded. 

“So tell us now,” Tally invited, softly, and Raelle did just that, making sure to keep her voice low, though there was no one in the halls with them, going through all of it: the mall attack, the antagonistic antics in Red, the invasion of privacy and trauma of the interrogation, the unexpected bond between them that formed after. The research, the book, the secret meeting made possible by that mark on her palm, Scylla’s cryptic half-truths about her time at Cotton Mather. 

“Damn,” Abigail muttered, as they entered the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Raelle agreed, and Tally for her part, remained silent as they stopped, taking in the kitchen. 

Abigail continued, “I mean, damn, Raelle, that’s like…that’s a lot. You really trusted her?”

Raelle rolled her eyes, “Yes, I did. Maybe it was stupid or something, I don’t know, but it didn’t feel like she was trying to manipulate me any more-”

“I’m not saying it was wrong,” Abigail said quietly, and Raelle realized she’d been starting to get defensive. “I think…I think you did the right thing. You were a good influence. Better than I would have been,” Abigail said.

“Hard to believe she did what she did,” Tally said. 

Raelle nodded, “I know. It’s even weirder just…seeing her here, walking around…free,”

Abigail shook her head, “I bet. Did you end up getting any answers from her last night?”

Raelle sighed, “No. I’m still honestly…wrapping my head around it all,”

“Fair,” Tally said, and Abigail nodded in agreement. Raelle braced herself for more questions, but to her relief, her unit seemed temporarily satisfied, and dropped the subject. 

“So like…how does this work?” Abigail whispered to her unit, and both Tally and Raelle shrugged. 

“Anacostia said we have to cook our own food, right? So I guess we need to do that…” Tally said, taking in the whole of the kitchen. 

Raelle looked around too, noticing what looked like a sign-up sheet taped to the side of one of the many shelves that were being used to store food. It had a few names scribbled on it, and at the top it said simply “Foragers This Week”. Scylla’s name was first on the list. 

Raelle squinted at the other names as Tally grabbed a carton of eggs from the communal shelf and held them up questioningly. Abigail answered Tally’s silent question with a nod, and together, they all headed to the stoves to get their breakfast started. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all notice that, when Raelle stood up and turned and sat back down next to Scylla...they were now facing the same direction and were thusly, on the same side?? 🤯 Sorry, I know I should let you guys find these little gems on your own but I am insanely proud of that one so I can't resist. 😅 
> 
> Anyway, clearly I am fully committed to the slow burn! Hope it's some good torture for you all! Drop a line if you managed to not spontaneously combust with these two finally being alone and without a cell door or wall between them lmao! Also, Mamacostia pulling through! We love to see it!


	9. A Call to Arms and Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello people! Oh shit, is this an update a day early?! It is! Originally I was just gonna give you guys this early update in celebration of the sort-of return of Clexa, because like I feel like that's cause for celebration, you know? Not quite the ending we envisioned for them but ADC still looks damn fine in her Lexa warpaint. And well, now the news that the orange has the plague, and also it's October?! I may denounce my home country for many reasons, but Halloween is not one of them. The aesthetics! The spoopy! The Hocus Pocus! So! Lots to celebrate! Also idk about you guys but I had a stressful af day and I could use some serotonin, and I hope I can give you guys the same amount you always give me! 
> 
> And if you didn't have a stressful day, well...I'm jealous lmao, but hope the update makes your day that much better! ^_^
> 
> The only warning isn't really a warning, so much as a treat: it's a long-ass update for you all ahaha, over 4000 words. Enjoy them!

_Cotton Mather was high-security, and that meant she was black-bagged immediately upon her arrival. She couldn’t say she loved military police being the ones to guide her: she still felt visceral hatred toward them, which made itself more and more known with each step they took, Scylla bent over in prisoner’s pose, her arms locked behind her and held roughly by one of the police. Her residual feelings of elation vanished when she was immediately brought into a room that looked far too much like her cell from Fort Salem, but with a table and with decidedly more interrogators._

_They put her in Rose Wing, but not before a rigorous round of interrogations that left her spent and angry. So angry._

_Death would have been preferable. She didn’t know what the Caribbean was like, but at least it would have been warm. Maybe they would have hanged her in the hot afternoon sun and she could have felt her skin burn as they let her fall to the gallows. But she wasn’t in the Caribbean, and she was very much alive and she was sick of interrogations. Sick of the torture, sick of being made to eat glass (terribly unimaginative: she’d laughed at them and had relished in the seriously disturbed looks she received from a few of her interrogators)._

_They gave her a number and they only called her by that, despite no shortage of her telling her interrogators her name every time they called her “Thirteen”._

_“It’s Scylla, actually,” she would say back, no matter how tired, beaten, or battered. No matter what._

_It took her two weeks in to snap. To really snap. They were asking her the same questions and offering her cushy amenities for her to tell them things, trying to bribe her, trying to get information that she didn’t have, trying to break her when she’d been broken for so long she was fairly certain it was her permanent state. And no matter how much she told them she didn’t know the answer to their questions, they just kept pushing and pushing and pushing and so she broke. She did, but not in the way they wanted._

_She didn’t want to show them her parents. She had no reason to give them that memory, and they didn’t fucking deserve it. They kept bringing up the mall, over and over and over again, so she showed it to them, when they tried to link with her to pull information out of her. She showed it to them, and she laughed as they broke away. She was half-mad from relief and glee that she could break them as quickly as they tried to break her. She unleashed it all: she had no reason to hang onto her anger anymore, so she fought them every goddamned step of the way. From the moment interrogators entered her cell to take her to Oyer camp, she fought.  
_

_She was moved to Red, and she was informed by some other asshole named Graves that she was one of the only people to have ever gotten assigned to Red so quickly._

_Scylla decided, after another week of mostly speaking to Graves, that she liked her, but only because of her last name._

_“I’m a fan of that name, Graves,” she said honestly, through her open communication slot one day at meal time. Graves rolled her eyes and Scylla accepted her meal and stood right up by the door, which she knew was expressly not allowed to do once she had her meal. But Graves didn’t seem particularly afraid, which was just as well._

_“Thanks, it’s a family name,” she deadpanned._

_Scylla snorted. “Are you Necro?”_

_“No,”_

_“Pity,”_

_“Yes, would have been quite the laugh,” Graves said dryly._

_“You’re a real hoot, you know that?” Scylla asked, squinting at Graves._

_“It’s what they pay me for,”_

_Scylla snorted._

_Graves was fun, in an antagonistic sort of way. She gave as good as she got, and didn’t once break her stony façade, and Scylla had to admire that about her._

_Graves never really fell for the numerous times that Scylla corrected “Thirteen” to “Scylla, actually”, but the more that Scylla fought her, and everyone else, in interrogation, and the more that Scylla started speaking to people coming to her cell, the more Graves seemed to see her as a threat. It birthed the nickname “Sixteen-hundred”, which, Scylla thought, had a nice ring to it. It was something more imaginative, at any rate, than “Thirteen”, which was a boring and almost entirely too predictable number. Wow, they gave the unlucky number to the prisoner who had killed the most people, shocking._

_“Sixteen-hundred” was at least a little more inspired, and it suited her better. It also incited an…odd sort of respect from people, once it started getting picked up. Her interrogators gave her space during cell inspections. Everyone except Granada, when she was around, was simultaneously wary of Sixteen-hundred and somewhat fascinated with her, and Scylla used that to her every advantage._

_Sometime near the end of her first few months at Cotton Mather, she was taken for yet another interrogation, black-bagged and cuffed and bent over and walked in circles - which she was already starting to memorize - before being brought to Oyer, led down various halls, and situated in a room, locked into the floor and the table, her collar checked to make sure it was still working, and then left alone. It was usually how the interrogations worked: guards brought her into the room through one end, interrogators came in through another, and they got on with it. Usually, though, they removed the bag._

_Which they stupidly forgot to do that time. Scylla rolled her eyes to herself just as she heard the other door open and close, and the bag was finally removed a moment later. She set her jaw defiantly and squinted in the light, coming face to face with…_

_Anacostia Quartermaine._

_Scylla felt her mouth fall open, unsure what to say and honestly a little bit shocked. She had thought for sure that Anacostia had written her off…_

_Anacostia inhaled deeply through her nose before she opened her mouth and asked: “What kind of alliance?”_

\---

Tally fried the eggs and Raelle busied herself with finding bread and butter and, together with Abigail, made some toast. It was a basic breakfast but Raelle was actually pretty hungry, her stomach rumbling as she sat down with her unit. She remembered that she hadn’t had a proper meal since the day before, when Scylla was still Porter and they hadn’t had collars on their necks. 

They cleaned up and headed out into the compound, tucked tightly together. They had free reign but it felt…weird. Raelle ended up just following her unit, and it seemed that Tally was leading them.

They ended up in the Rec room, which was positively bustling, with pockets of people at workstations and a massive board with tons of pages pinned to it on the far side of the room. There were other boards, smaller ones, and most of the workstations seemed to also be covered in pages. They wandered into the room, Tally gravitating, it seemed, to the large board. 

Raelle could feel eyes on them and she set her jaw, her skin crawling. She couldn’t say she was a fan of the curious stares and she tried to focus on her unit instead, Tally radiating an odd sense of determination and authority that had people looking at them but mercifully not approaching them. Still, Raelle looked around, just as curious as the eyes on her. People were tinkering with odd little objects, some holding them up as though inspecting them, others muttering, it looked like, to themselves or the objects, and still others carefully measuring out some kind of grey powder or odd metallic pellets, and still others murmuring among themselves and pouring over pages laid out in front of them.

Some of the pages were schematics: that was pretty obvious, but it wasn’t obvious as to what they were for. Most of the writing seemed to be Greek or some other alphabet and it hurt Raelle’s head to look at it too long, because she at least recognized some of the symbols: math. 

Complicated math, and math had never been her strong suit. 

“What is this…?” Tally asked, getting close to the largest blueprint on the board, squinting. 

“Probably that weapon they mentioned,” Abigail said, leaning in as well. 

“Looks complicated,” Raelle muttered. 

“Well it’s certainly not a walk in the park,” someone said, from behind them, and Raelle whipped around. 

A woman smiled sheepishly at Raelle and at her unit, “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you guys, I just need to get-” she indicated the board and weaved her way through the three of them to untack something from the largest one.

“You’re new, huh?” she asked, as she rolled up the page, “Saw you guys come in yesterday,”

Raelle nodded as Abigail sighed behind her.

“Well, welcome. Nice, um,” she indicated her neck, “Not usually protocol to keep those on new people, what’d you guys do? Are you ex-Spree?”

Abigail scoffed but Tally answered, “No, no. Military,”

“Huh. Well, I’m sure they’ll get those off of you soon,” she tapped the rolled up page on her palm, giving them another once over before starting to turn on her heel. 

“Hey,” Tally stopped her, stepping forward, “Um, what is it…what are you guys working on?”

The woman raised her eyebrow, her eyes immediately gravitating once again to the collar still around Tally’s neck. She pursed her lips. “Weapon,” she said cryptically, with a shrug. 

“For what?”

“For the revolution,”

Abigail snorted. “Obviously. What kind of weapon it is? Who’s it for?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at them, looking uneasy. She sighed, “It’s for the people who need it.”

“Like who?”

The woman sent them a sympathetic smile. “When you guys get your assignments, you’ll find out,”

Raelle doubted that that was supposed to come across as cryptic, but goddess, it really did…

“Our ‘assignments’?” Abigail arched an eyebrow.

The woman nodded. “Yeah. Everyone gets one once they’ve been vetted and everything. Process can take a while, but until then we’re under strict orders to not really talk. Sorry,” she shrugged.

She didn’t sound sorry in the slightest, and Raelle watched her saunter away with knitted brows, Abigail muttering an affronted “Unbelievable,”

Tally, Raelle noticed, had already turned back to the board. “I have no idea what this is,” she muttered. 

“It’s a weapon, Tal,” Abigail mocked. 

Tally shook her head, starting to walk along the board, taking in all of the blueprints and notes tacked onto it. “I know that, Abs. I just don’t know what kind,”

Abigail folded her arms, “And it looks like no one is going to tell us,” she muttered, jutting her chin out. 

Raelle turned to look around the room, and sure enough, a lot of eyes were on them, now. Each one filled with curiosity. 

Raelle internally winced, ready to turn back to her unit when she caught movement on the opposite end of the room: Scylla. She walked in breezily, a mug in one hand, talking amicably to someone, seemingly completely oblivious to the entire atmosphere around her, clearly absorbed with whatever the person next to her was talking about. 

“Hey, um, guys,” Raelle said, not bothering to turn back to see if her unit was paying attention. “I’ll um, I’ll be right back,”

She didn’t wait for a response, breaking away from her unit and making a beeline for Scylla.

\---

_“What made you change your mind?” Scylla asked as she held her hair to the side, Anacostia behind her, tinkering with her collar. It apparently had to be meddled with manually, according to Anacostia, which was why she was in the position she was in, having pulled out a tiny little tool and now going ham on the stupid fucking collar._

_“I’m not sure,” she said flatly, “Hold still,”_

_“I’m not moving,” Scylla bit out._

_“You’re doing something, and I need you to not. I’m not going to be able to completely alter this, they’ll figure it out, and they didn’t exactly make these easy to tamper with,” she grunted, and Scylla winced as the whole collar slid sideways, taking some of her hair with it._

_Scylla bit her lip and refrained from saying anything else, letting Anacostia do her thing on the offending object around her neck._

_“I won’t be able to do a whole hell of a lot, but it’ll be enough to let you use a few seeds. Sub-register, but that shouldn’t be an issue for you,”_

_“Necro specialty,” Scylla surmised, and Anacostia hummed in agreement._

_“And…to answer your question. I don’t know. I don’t know what changed my mind. I just…I thought about it. And it…it made sense. It’s fucking crazy,” she added quickly, and then softly, “But it made sense. In a crazy kind of way,”_

_“All the best people are crazy,” Scylla said, careful not to shrug, though she wanted to._

_“Debatable,” Anacostia grunted._

_Scylla couldn’t help but smile, just a little._

_“You had a point, though. And I just…I couldn’t get it out of my head,”_

_“I have that effect on people,” Scylla said, smirking to herself._

_“Shut up, don’t sound so self-satisfied or I may just change my damn mind,” Anacostia muttered, but it was an empty threat, and they both knew it. She was already risking far too much by being there._

_“How did you get here, anyway?”_

_“Orders from Alder,”_

_Scylla snorted, “No way that’s true,”_

_“It’s true for them and it’ll be true for you when you leave here, got it?” Anacostia hissed._

_Scylla almost nodded, but stopped herself. “Got it,”_

_“I’m risking my neck being here, Ramshorn, I mean it-”_

_“Do I seem like the type to break in interrogations to you, Quartermaine?” Scylla asked, raising her eyebrow despite knowing that Anacostia couldn’t see the gesture._

_“…no,” she said, just the slightest hint of amusement in her voice. “I see they’ve been giving you hell,”_

_“I’ve been giving it right back,” Scylla assured her, which got a low chuckle from Anacostia._

_“I know. I got a whole half-hour briefing before this, thanks for that,” she grumbled._

_“Why does Alder think you’re here?”_

_“Spree interrogation purposes,”_

_“Ah, that makes sense. She’ll do anything for an ounce of that,”_

_“I volunteered to come interview you personally. Try to get through to you again now that you’ve been in prison for a while. I read the reports about you, though. You’ve caused the reassignment of multiple veteran Interrogators, you know that?”_

_“It’s a gift,” Scylla said with a smirk._

_“Whatever it is,” Anacostia said, and Scylla felt a tug and heard two consecutive clicks. Anacostia straightened behind her. “There, done. Whatever it is,” she reiterated, “Just make sure they don’t get wind of this, or we’re both screwed,”_

_“I have plenty of material to fuel their nightmares,” Scylla assured her, and she heard Anacostia sigh as she made her way to the other end of the interrogation table and sat in the chair opposite Scylla._

_“That,” she said, her voice genuinely sounding saddened, “I don’t doubt,”_

_They eyed each other for a while, before Anacostia broke the silence, “You look like shit,”_

_“You should see the other guys,” Scylla deadpanned, and Anacostia shook her head to herself, but let out a huff of air that sounded suspiciously like a laugh._

_She let out another huff before rolling her eyes and folding her arms to herself, and muttering, “This is absolute insanity,”_

_Scylla agreed. “It is,”_

_“Do you even have a plan?”_

_Scylla shook her head but clenched her jaw, her sudden resolve from when she first realized that the idea wasn’t entirely a bad one returning full-force. “No, but between the two of us? Just think about it: we are from opposite sides. We have intel, we have knowledge of the inner workings of our institutions. We have connections, yours probably more viable than mine, but still. Between my Dodger skills and your military position…combined, we can create something stronger than them. Something smarter than them. Something greater than them,”_

_Anacostia sighed, “Not without a plan, we can’t,” she said seriously._

_Scylla nodded, “But plans are born from planning, and two heads are better than one. And I know you don’t, but I sort of have all of the time in the world here,” Scylla shrugged, “It’ll take time, but I’m sure I can come up with something,”_

_Anacostia eyed Scylla for a moment, before slowly nodding. That was promising…_

_“Okay,” Anacostia said, with a heavy sigh, “Start thinking of things. I can’t come here often, but I’ll try to come as much as I can. We can try and figure this out. I’ll see what I can do, too. But you,” she pointed at Scylla seriously, “Keep that collar on the down low. I mean it: no seeds except for things like keeping you alive, okay? I’m risking my goddamn neck here, and yours,”_

_Scylla nodded, “Anacostia,” she said, seriously, “I in no way plan on putting either of us in jeopardy. What purpose would it serve me?”_

_Anacostia nodded, letting out a shaky sigh, “I can’t believe I’ve agreed to an alliance with a terrorist,”_

_“With a revolutionary,” Scylla corrected, and Anacostia rolled her eyes._

\---

Raelle slowed as she approached Scylla, who was still entirely too engrossed in her conversation, but finally did look up as Raelle neared. 

She stopped speaking to the gentleman next to her, a taller, older guy with a blueprint open in his hands. 

“Raelle!” she said, smiling. It was half-way between genuine and pleasantly amused, and Raelle still couldn’t get over the fact that Scylla was just…there. Before her. Holding a cup of what looked like tea and speaking amicably with some random guy. 

“Andre, if you’ll excuse me,” she said to the man next to her, and he nodded before giving Raelle a once-over, gaze lingering on her collar with a raised eyebrow before leaving them in their own company. 

“How are you settling in?” Scylla asked, her words warm, a softness to her eyes that Raelle hadn’t really seen. Yes, she’d seen warmth in Scylla’s gaze before, but this was…different. Unguarded. In softer lighting. It did wonders for her, honestly. She reached out as though to take Raelle’s arm but stopped just short of touching her, instead using the almost-touch to usher Raelle to walk with her. 

Raelle hesitated, deciding not to do so, instead rooting herself to her spot. Scylla did nothing more than quirk an eyebrow, if only just, but seemed to get the message. She let her hand linger nonetheless, slowly lowering it as Raelle fidgeted but answered honestly: “Okay, I guess. Kitchen’s interesting,”

“Yes, nothing like Cotton Mather, I’d imagine. Certainly not like the military, but you get used to it,”

Raelle shrugged, “I don’t mind, I mostly cooked my own food for most of my life anyway, even when my mama wasn’t deployed, so. Kind of a change but nothing I haven’t handled before,”

Scylla nodded, “Well, good. I see you and your unit got the civvies Anacostia had left out for you,”

Raelle glanced down at her outfit. Indeed, they’d found three sets of clothes right outside of their door that morning, to make them “blend in” as much as possible, they assumed.

Though clearly, the collars were doing them no favors. 

“You’re welcome to wear your uniforms of course, if you want, but we figured we’d give you the option,” Scylla shrugged. 

Raelle nodded tersely, and they fell into a silence that was just on the precipice of awkward, and Raelle knew that Scylla could tell from her eyebrow slowly creeping up, silently asking if there was anything else she could help Raelle with. 

“I have a question,” Raelle blurted, and Scylla’s other eyebrow raised as well.

“Okay. Well, shoot,” Scylla said, tilting her head and shifting her weight, both hands cupping the mug she still held. 

Shit. Okay, so Raelle didn’t actually have a question. She just didn’t like the silence, Scylla’s gaze just as intense as ever and twice as unnerving, for reasons that Raelle did not feel like thinking about. Despite that, butterflies erupted in her stomach and her heart beat erratically when Scylla furrowed her brow. 

Curse her attraction to bad girls. She’d always had a thing for women with pretty eyes and an aura of trouble, and Scylla fit the bill almost too perfectly. Raelle was very gay and Scylla was very beautiful and very dangerous and Raelle suddenly found herself very flustered, and she hated that. She hated that she felt a pull toward Scylla, a fucking murderer. She hated that she trusted her, and that her acceptance of that trust between them had evaporated: thrown out when she thought she safely had Scylla out of her life. 

Raelle wrung her hands but took a deep breath and voiced the first question that came to mind. 

“That shape-shifting trick, I-um, well, where did you learn that?”

Scylla sent her a half smile, her gaze suddenly reluctant as she softly said, “Spree. Spree taught me that little piece of work. I’d been…working on something similar, before I joined, but it was a simple glamour, it just messed with how people perceived my face. Spree’s disguises were on another level. It’s come in handy,”

Raelle bit her lip. Of course Spree had taught her. Scylla looked like she was painfully aware of how the word “Spree” would have an immediate and conflicting reaction from Raelle, because she looked almost…apologetic, for having been honest about it. 

Which was absurd, because Scylla had never been remotely apologetic for the things Spree had taught her and had her do. Still, she didn’t look particularly proud. 

Raelle shoved the feelings aside. It didn’t matter, that was all in the past now. Spree had taught Scylla how to shape shift, and now the real question was…

Well, fuck. Raelle didn’t know. And from the slightly amused tick of an eyebrow, Raelle realized that Scylla knew that Raelle hadn’t had any questions in mind when she’d come up to her. 

Still, perhaps stupidly, Raelle plowed on with the façade, asking the next question that came to mind.

“How handy?”

It took everything in Raelle to not cringe at such a stupid question. 

Scylla raised an eyebrow, but to Raelle’s great relief, decided to humor her. 

She shrugged, “Extremely. Think about it, Raelle. I know that you’re not an idiot,” the corner of her mouth ticked up, that same characteristic amusement dancing in her eyes, “if you had the ability to turn into anyone you came into contact with, think of all of the things you could do with that?”

The possibilities were endless and terrifying, and Raelle shook her head. “I…can it be taught?”

Another stupid question. Raelle was on a roll...

Both of Scylla’s eyebrows raised. “Of course it can be taught: how do you think I learned it?” a half smile, but she dropped it quickly in favor of a contemplative frown, “I can certainly try to teach you, if you want. But I don’t know how well it’ll work. Anacostia can’t do it, and I think it really depends on you, as an individual: because it’s a deceptive bit of work by nature, and you…” she tilted her head appraisingly, “You’re not. You and Anacostia have that in common.” 

Scylla sighed, “Still, it’s a useful skill. We wouldn’t be where we are now if I didn’t know it,”

Raelle didn’t even want to know what that meant, or in what ways Scylla had used shape-shifting to her advantage. They likely wouldn’t have been good ways…

Scylla must have clocked the displeased and uneasy feeling Raelle was experiencing, because she gave Raelle a sympathetic smile before steering the conversation away from the topic.

“Anything else?”

Raelle shook her head in the negative, “No, um. Not really. Does, um…does everyone know we’re new?”

Scylla looked amused, at that, “Yes. The collars particularly make you stick out as new meat, but most people here know each other. We’re not a terribly large faction, so people notice when newbies come into the fold.”

“The collars seem to really mark us,”

Scylla sighed, “They do. I’m afraid it’s unavoidable though,”

“No one really seems to want to talk to us-”

“About this,” Scylla indicated the room around them with a wave of her hand, “No. You haven’t been cleared for the information, and even if you didn’t have the collars, they would know not to talk to you about it. Everyone sort of has an…initiation phase, when they come into the fold. Nothing crazy, just a bit of a trial to make sure they won’t go running off on us and give away all of this information about this operation that we’ve worked so hard to keep under wraps. For them, this is a normal part of the process. We do try to be pretty egalitarian here between everyone but, alas. Some things must remain under wraps until the initiation is over, just in case. Until it’s determined that you’re not a threat.”

“Scyl, what the hell are we going to do?” Raelle asked, giving Scylla an exasperated look while indicating her unit, Abigail staring at them with a raised eyebrow and Tally still entirely too engrossed in the pages on the board. 

Scylla eyed her as though she wasn’t sure that Raelle had really asked that question, “You truly just don’t know how much power you hold at any given time, do you Raelle?” she shook her head, “You and your unit have the power to make or break this entire operation. It’s bad enough that we’re holding you here, just hoping and praying that you’ll say yes so that we can move on with our plan, but saying no sets us back at least a year, if not longer. Not to mention the sheer energy it takes to make effective memory work. And even then, sending you back to society is a huge risk. If the military got wind of this…if anyone got wind of this, really - if they tortured you or tried to slice your memories, memory work can only block so much. We have so much riding on this, Raelle, so forgive us if we take a few precautions so that we can avoid being a second military and killing any dissenters,” Scylla raised her eyebrows, taking a quick sip of her tea. 

Raelle stared at Scylla, unsure how to take that information, but Scylla didn’t elaborate, and they lapsed into another loaded silence, Raelle looking at Scylla and Scylla returning the stare with an odd look on her face, somewhere between pleased and exasperated. 

“If there’s nothing else, beautiful, I better get to work,” Scylla broke the silence, indicating a workstation nearby with an open seat, “But, please,” Scylla reached out, this time ever-so-gently ghosting her fingertips over Raelle’s arm.

Raelle didn’t mean to, but she flinched, more from the surprise of the touch than anything else, but something in Scylla’s expression shifted, though she was quick to cover it. 

She bit her lip but continued, “Don’t hesitate, if you have more questions,” she sent Raelle a small smile before walking past her, leaving Raelle to stare after her, a storm of emotions rioting in her chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Plans are born from planning" I mean...yeah, Scylla's not wrong with that one. 😂😂 Once again, she's making points! Lol. Also, like...poor Raelle just does NOT know how to handle all of this, and can we blame her? Scylla is...a lot. Which is why we stan.
> 
> Alas, these two still have quite a road ahead of them still. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed the surprise early update! Hopefully it made your day a little better! ^_^ Spare some serotonin for your fic writer and leave a comment if you enjoyed, I hope October keeps blessing us in unexpected but hopefully nice ways!


	10. In Defense of the Damned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp! I know technically yesterday was Saturday and therefore an upload day, but I went with a day early. My original intent was to treat you guys and post another chapter yesterday but ran into some trouble and basically messed up the whole schedule, so! We'll continue on our "Let October bring us good things" train and I'll post THIS update to get somewhat back on track with my upload schedule...
> 
> Also like tbqh this chapter has given me multiple headaches (the unit scene in particular) and if I publish it, no takesy-backsies and I can move on lmao. Anyway I'm also sick of looking at it, so it is what it is! 
> 
> No warnings on the chapter except our bb Necro does go Through It this chapter in her part of the story. It needed to happen but like if I made myself cry writing it, I hope it has the same effect on the lot of you...
> 
> Enjoy! 😂

_The next time she was black-bagged and led around in especially large circles, after a few more months settling in at Cotton Mather, Scylla tried not to get her hopes up that it was Anacostia. She had no way of knowing when her unlikely ally was going to come around (_ if _she was going to come around: Scylla sometimes, in her darkest of moments, doubted Anacostia’s sincerity and dedication to their fledgling movement), and the last few times she’d been taken to interrogation had not been for Anacostia._

_But it was. Anacostia greeted her after the door had shut behind them with a “Any ideas?”_

_“Straight to the point,” Scylla laughed, “Hello to you, too.”_

_Anacostia pinched the bridge of her nose._

_Like their first meeting, their second didn’t go…well. Scylla had come up with a lot of half-baked concepts, but none of them had any real traction, and Anacostia was quick to shoot them down, which became very frustrating for the both of them as they sat there, face to face, getting progressively more annoyed, Scylla with Anacostia not even considering her ideas, and Anacostia, Scylla could tell, with Scylla not having thought of any good ideas._

_“I don’t exactly see you bringing anything to the table!” Scylla finally snapped, and Anacostia glared at her._

_“I’m not the one that wanted this alliance,”_

_“No but you’re the one with the most riding on it,” Scylla shot back._

_Anacostia’s nostrils flared. “You think I don’t know that?”_

_Scylla let out a frustrated sigh, sitting back as much as she could in her chair. She huffed, annoyed. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. With just the two of us-”_

_“It’s impossible,” Anacostia concluded._

_Scylla shook her head, now more annoyed at the pessimistic attitude than anything else, “It’s not impossible, and if you think it is, then you may as well just leave me here to rot because we’re never going to get anywhere if your attitude is that we won’t fucking get anywhere!”_

_Goddess, it felt good to yell, and Anacostia sat back in her seat, folding her arms. She eyed Scylla with an annoyed expression, but a begrudging one, silently acknowledging that she was right._

_Were she able, Scylla would have rubbed her temples, but she wasn’t, so she settled for planting her wrists on the table and setting her jaw, thinking._

_“We have the resources. Maybe not while I’m in prison, we won’t have all of them, but-”_

_“I can’t get you out of prison,” Anacostia deadpanned, and Scylla rolled her eyes._

_“I never said I wanted you to. I’m probably safer in here than I am out there, anyway.” she said honestly. “But at least, while my hands are tied, there’s little I can do except keep thinking of possible solutions. But you…you’re on the outside. You have access to things we may need-”_

_“Like what?” Anacostia interrupted her again._

_Scylla shot her a dirty looked but continued, contemplative, “Like…numbers,” she nodded, suddenly realizing that was true. They needed numbers. Any revolution did. There had to be more people interested in their cause, there had to be-_

_“Numbers…would actually be good,” Anacostia said, suddenly perking up in her seat._

_“Do you think you can put feelers out, in the military? To see if…there are any dissenters, or people interested?”_

_“You do know what you’re asking me to do, right?” Anacostia deadpanned, and Scylla huffed._

_“Yes, Anacostia, I get it. You’re risking your neck. I’m not saying to just go up to people and ask them if they want to start a revolution, you’re not an idiot and I’ll remind you that neither am I-”_

_“All evidence to the contrary,” Anacostia said slyly, and for a moment, Scylla was taken aback. Was that…had that been…a fucking joke??_

_Scylla squinted at Anacostia, who, for her part, pretended like she hadn’t said anything, so Scylla continued._

_“But…if you are able to, maybe keep an eye out for dissenters. Goddess knows there are usually a few in every incoming conscription class. I don’t know about you, but I can definitely think of several people, Dodgers and Spree, who would be interested-”_

_“No Spree,” Anacostia interjected sharply._

_Scylla raised an eyebrow, “They aren’t all like my faction was, you know. Some of them are peaceful. Some of them admonish what mine and other cells do. There are dissenters in any movement, Anacostia. You just have to squint hard enough, and you can find them. If it’s a game of numbers, shouldn’t we take who we can get?”_

_Anacostia hesitated, clenching her jaw. “Fine. But no Spree tactics,”_

_Scylla rolled her eyes, “Fine, no Spree tactics,” she agreed out loud, but she already knew that rule was going to be broken. Spree tactics were guerilla warfare, something that proved useful against entrenched powers like the US military. Spree tactics were likely going to be necessary, but she didn’t particularly feel like fighting Anacostia on that. Not then. Not when they’d finally agreed on something._

_Anacostia, jaw still clenched, gave a curt nod. “I’ll…see what I can do,”_

_Scylla nodded tersely, “Thank you.”_

\---

Raelle stuck by her unit as they weaved their way around the Rec room, Tally and Abigail on a mission to get as much information out of people as possible, though to no avail. Just like Scylla had said, no one really talked to them. 

Or, well, they did – but the simple and standard and same questions and answers. A simple hello, confirming they were new, suspicious looks at their collars, asking what side they belonged to before they were brought to the compound, and other basic chit-chat. Some of the people they talked to were military, like them. Others, Dodgers or people who’d helped Dodgers, and even a few identified themselves – however sheepishly – as ex-Spree members, which honestly shocked Raelle a little.

Despite their decided openness on basic conversation topics, as soon as Tally or Abigail tried to get more information out of people – like what they were working on – they immediately shut down

It was no use, really. They were marked until they got their collars off, and despite both Tally and Abigail (but especially Abigail) being stubborn and determined women, even they threw in the towel after the first several people they tried to casually talk to. Raelle largely just kept her mouth shut, every once in a while trying to get a little glimpse of Scylla, surprised to find her genuinely engrossed in what she was working on, rather than her unnerving gaze tracking Raelle around the room. 

It was…odd, to see her so thoroughly absorbed, and Raelle couldn’t help but raise a curious eyebrow every time she glanced at Scylla.

The unit ended up back at their room not much later, Abigail understandably frustrated and Tally still with that contemplative look on her face, as though she was grasping something that the others just weren’t seeing. 

In any other moment, it may have irked Raelle, but she was pretty absorbed as it were in her own thoughts. 

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Abigail started to pace. 

“They can’t do this to us,” she huffed, annoyed. “They can’t just bring us here and then plop us down and put collars on us and then not tell us what the hell they’re doing, and just expect us to…what? Answer them when we don’t have any reason to join them?”

“Don’t we?” Raelle asked, sounding exasperated despite herself as she sat on her mattress.

“We do?!” Abigail returned incredulously, eyebrows shooting up.

Raelle sighed, pushing her hair out of her face. Because, well…if nothing else, she certainly did. She’d had a reason before Cotton Mather, but after? Goddess, she had about a million more…

And she knew that her unit did, too. And she knew that they knew that, but she also understood Abigail’s frustration: it mirrored her own. There were too few answers, too many variables, and certainly far too much to process…

Tally leaned against the closed door, folding her arms and speaking up before Raelle could organize her thoughts. “It doesn’t sound like they expect us to join them. Just that they want us to,” Tally said, her voice measured: choosing her words. 

“Yeah, but Tal. You saw that in there. How can they expect us to trust them if they don’t give us any information?”

“How can they trust us if they tell us without a guarantee we’ll stay?” Raelle found herself asking, her conversation with Scylla fresh in her mind.

The question made Abigail pause. 

“I don’t know!” Abigail threw her hands up, exasperated, “If they want us so bad, wouldn’t it make sense to tell us everything?”

Tally sighed, gently rubbing her temples. “In their shoes, I wouldn’t tell us either,”

That got an incredulous eyebrow raise from Abigail, and from Raelle too, despite herself. 

Tally nodded. “Think about it. Do you guys remember when we decided to tell Abi’s mom about Alder? The questionable calls she made at City Drop? And how Alder found out and literally tried to keep us from getting into War College because of it? Remember how we were literally a hair’s breadth away from being war meat in China?”

Abigail nodded and Raelle cocked her head. It was a…hard memory to forget, honestly. 

“Looking back on it now…would we have given up all of that information, knowing that it would come back to bite us in the ass? I wouldn’t have risked it, had I known the consequences,” Tally said honestly. “I haven’t risked it. Do you know the sheer amount of…of questionable shit I found in the archives?” she raised an eyebrow.

Abigail rolled her eyes and folded her arms, “No, because you literally refused to tell me,”

Tally nodded, “Exactly. Because for your own safety, it would be better for me to not share it. Not when we were anywhere near prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. It’s one thing for me to know it, but I didn’t – I wouldn’t, want to put you in danger. It’s the same reason Raelle never told us anything about Scylla. Right, Raelle?”

Raelle stared, dumbfounded by Tally’s sharp observations. Still, a moment later, she found herself nodding, a little sheepish despite herself. 

“So I think it makes sense,”

Abigail let out a frustrated grunt, “Well when you put it like that…” she muttered. 

Tally sent her a half-smile. “I’m not saying I like it. I’m just saying I get it. But we’re not exactly in an advantageous situation here…”

“I just wish someone would tell us something,” Abigail grumbled. 

“Well. We can still try,” Tally said, shrugging one shoulder. “We can still try to talk to people-”

Raelle let out a hollow laugh. “How? You guys weren’t exactly successful in the Rec room,” she reminded them. 

“I guess we just…talk? But maybe not about the weapon at first, you know? Maybe we can make it seem like we already said yes. There are enough people here that I’m sure someone would buy it. We can plant the seed that we’re in this, and people will be less likely to see us as a threat,”

Raelle shook her head. After all, according to Scylla, they were a threat. And likely…no one would budge about talking to them. 

Raelle said as much, relaying the relevant information from her talk with Scylla.

“Fuck,” Abigail muttered, then louder: “Fuck!”

Raelle couldn’t help but agree. She folded her arms and sighed. 

“Well…what if we run away?” Abigail proposed. “If they need us so badly, we threaten to leave-”

“And go where?” Tally asked, exasperated, “We’re literally in the middle of nowhere. We have one rucksack between the three of us, and,” she grasped her collar, “No way of doing work for water or food or shelter,”

“The fire tower has a working radio-” Abigail started, but Raelle could already see the issue with that idea, too. 

“No way they’ve left that unguarded. Scylla’s good with creating her own type of work,” Raelle held open her palm for emphasis, “they likely have something entirely of her invention keeping that tower locked up tight,”

They well and truly were stuck. And really...they were alone, too. Their only ally...the only person all of them really knew in the whole compound, was Anacostia. Raelle would almost dare to say Scylla was an ally, too: but her unit hardly would see her that way. And, goddess, Raelle really had no idea where Scylla fit into any of this plan, or what she was doing there or how, really, the alliance between Scylla and Quartermaine even fucking worked. 

It all gave Raelle a headache to think about. 

“And that’s another thing!” Abigail started to pace again. “Scylla. She’s a terrorist. In theory she’s an ex-terrorist now, since she’s working with Anacostia? But can we even really believe that?” she huffed, “After all, she gave you that palm thing without consent. She’s mass-murdered people, yet Anacostia’s letting her walk around like she hasn’t done terrible things? So forgive me but she’s not exactly what one would think of as ‘trustworthy’.”

“Of course she’s not, Abs. But she’s also sort of holding all of the cards right now, so it’s not exactly like we can do anything,” Tally muttered.

“Did you guys see the way she just has like…free range of this place? Kitchen and everything. I’m genuinely surprised they let her anywhere near where anything she could use to kill people, though I guess knives aren’t really her style,” Abigail’s expression was sour. “And I’m surprised that everyone just…trusts her? Why isn’t she made to wear a collar around, huh? Last I checked, she used work to kill all those people, so why can she just go around without some kind of check on her power?”

“It is a little weird,” Tally acquiesced, pursing her lips. “But she is co-leading. It would probably be even weirder if she were to have a collar on…”

“So clearly, Anacostia trusts her, if nothing else. I don’t know why everyone else does, though,” Abigail looked at Raelle, tilting her head curiously, “You still trust her too, don’t you?”

Did she? Raelle screwed up her features, thinking. 

Honestly…she did. Much as she hated it, much as she fought it…much as she didn't want to. She did trust Scylla. She had spent months, at Cotton Mather and then after, trusting in Scylla and in everything she’d said. Because Scylla was right. Because Scylla always had a point, and she knew it. But…Raelle wasn’t sure how well she could explain that to her unit. If she even should, lest they think she’d lost her goddamn mind. 

“I…don’t know,” she said finally. A lie. “I…” 

She…what? Didn’t have a reason not to trust her? The whole “mass-murder” thing sort of said otherwise. Raelle shook her head and tried again, “If Anacostia trusts her, shouldn’t we, too? If everyone here trusts her? After all, if her end goal really was to kills us, she could have already done it several times over. Me, at Cotton Mather. Us, in the woods. Hell, she could have killed Anacostia once she got her out of prison,” Raelle shrugged, folding her arms, “I don’t know what to think,” she said honestly, earning a sympathetic nod from her unit. “I guess…if she really wanted to, she could hurt us, but she hasn’t, so either she’s changed-”

“Or she doesn’t want to hurt us. Yet,” Abigail said.

The “yet” sent a chill down Raelle’s spine. Yet, indeed.

Abigail nodded. “The point is, we really can’t know she’s reformed.”

Raelle felt her shoulders slump. “I know,” she said honestly. Quietly. Because she did. She wanted to believe Scylla could have changed. Goddess, she wanted that with all of her being, because it would make everything…it would make everything so much easier. 

But the last time she’d seen Scylla was in prison, after all. Smug and maliciously mirthful and fully capable of lying her way out of just about any situation she could find herself in. Fully capable of playing the long game. Of hiding that darkness within her behind soft gazes and flirtatious tones and beautiful blue eyes... “I know,” she muttered again. 

Tally sighed, “How about we ask Anacostia? We were all a little shocked last night. Maybe we can have her elaborate for us, sort of fill in the story and give us her perspective on trusting Scylla.”

Raelle and Abigail exchanged a look, but nodded. Tally pursed her lips.

“So, it's decided, then. We find Anacostia,” Tally said.

“We find Anacostia,” Abigail agreed, and Raelle murmured her acquiescence as well.

\---

_Scylla was exhausted. It was just…everything. She was sat in her cell, her cramped, tiny, too-bright cell. She had a splitting headache, a throat raw from choking on water (who the fuck had brought back waterboarding?!), and no more energy to be angry. She was just tired. Done. Interrogations had gotten worse, somehow, despite being less frequent. She had some ability to heal herself, however subtly, thanks to Anacostia’s fiddling with her collar, but it could only do so much, and the rest of the time, she had to heal the old-fashioned way, which meant living with constant pain, constant aches, constant fatigue. It all took time to heal from._

_But time was as much a curse as it was a blessing. No matter how much time she had, she hadn’t come up with anything for their alliance. She hadn’t heard from Anacostia in months, and their last meeting had gone about as swimmingly as their first few as allies: lots of frustration and very little progress. Anacostia was doubting their alliance, and it hurt, if Scylla was honest with herself, that she could feel her own doubt creeping up on her. Doubt about everything. What was she doing? Playing defiant little shit in a prison that she was sentenced to for life. Did she really have an ally in Anacostia, or just a jailer by another name? Was she just putting off her inevitable execution?_

_Could she request to be executed?_

_She didn’t know, but she doubted it. Executions were ordered, not requested. She swallowed, her throat sore._

_She was shivering, too. Her body was in shock, and she whispered a seed to try to calm herself down, but the sounds were unsteady and she couldn’t put any real power in them._

_Instead, she leaned her head against the cool metal of her cell door, shutting her eyes and pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them._

_She was hungry. She hadn’t eaten her last few meals. She was thirsty but didn’t really feel like looking at water in that moment, let alone putting it to her lips. The thought made her gag, bringing back the horrible feeling of being at the point of drowning._

_There was a time she could have withstood it, really. Any other night, maybe. But something about this one…it was all getting to her. The pain, the exhaustion, the doubts and the fears, the lack of sleep, the lack of pure fucking human contact and kindness._

_The worst part was probably that memory. Even shutting her eyes, she could see it. She’d conjured it so often in interrogations, to get them to stop fucking linking with her, that it played out nearly automatically on her eyelids, unbidden but not unwelcome._

_She played it up for the linking, of course: refocusing the memory with vicious and malicious intent, amplifying and exaggerating her visceral pleasure and erasing the equally visceral disgust: the churning she’d felt in her stomach, the disconnect she’d felt while hundreds of people fell to their deaths around her. Helpless, hopeless, fighting potent work that they had no way of defeating, fearing for their lives but climbing up higher, higher, higher, and jumping despite every instinct within them screaming not to._

_It must have been horrible._

_Scylla clenched her jaw, working it, which did nothing for her headache._

_Did they feel then, what she felt now? Lost? Entirely like there was no point in continuing? In fighting? Giving up and surrendering to that deep impulse in them that told them it was time to die. Did they feel scared, worried? Did they think about the people they were leaving behind? Did they feel like they’d lived for nothing, after all? Did they have regrets?_

_Maybe she should throw in the towel, too. Just let the military realize that she was a nobody, and let them send her off to the Caribbean to die, like she should have ages ago…_

_The first tear was a surprise. It slid down her cheek and landed on her hand and she stared at it._

_Was this what they had felt? Helpless, hopeless, resigned? How hard had they fought? Would it have mattered?_

_Would it matter how hard she fought, too?_

_Scylla blinked, and another tear fell._

_Was she just destined to die without having accomplished anything, except mass murder? A mass murder she didn’t even feel like she committed, despite the memory being her own, playing over and over and over again in her mind to the point of redundancy._

_It continued, but she let it, shutting her eyes and watching vividly as bodies started raining from the heavens around her. The sick squelch of meat hitting concrete several stories below. It almost felt like someone else’s memories. Someone else’s body, standing there, watching the horror unfold. Watching hundreds of scared human beings, trapped in their own minds, slaves to an order she had given, walk like lambs to the slaughter, guided by her actions._

_Against all their instincts, all their fears…helpless._

_Scylla felt it like a punch to the gut, and the next body to hit the floor, on her left, sent a wave of despair through her the likes of which, she had never allowed herself to feel._

_Just like that, the disconnect vanished, and she watched in full technicolor as bodies fell around her, and she felt, truly, every one as they slipped from their Earthly plane, into another, and she heard them, felt their fear. Unable to hide from it…she cried._

_She really cried._

_She had done that. She had fucking done that. She had been responsible for taking so many lives, each one filled with potential for something, for anything, and she had forced them into a hopeless situation, and had killed them. Like they had done to her, and so many of her own, but for once, that reasoning rang hollow. It didn’t matter, in that instant, why she had done it. Just that it had happened, and sixteen-hundred lives were lost that day, and they fell around her and she cried in her cell._

_She hugged her knees tighter and let out a sob. She didn’t want to fucking die. She didn’t want to be in a stupid fucking cell awaiting a future she didn’t know, she just wanted to rest. She didn’t want to be a terrorist or a mass murder, she didn’t want to be Spree or a witch, she just wanted to be, she had always just wanted to fucking exist! But that had been taken from her before she was even born, and she had taken it from them in a hollow attempt at feeling avenged._

_She just wanted to forget, she just wanted it all to fucking stop! But she didn’t let it, replaying the attack again, and again, forcefully knocking down the emotional detachment she’d held onto for so long, until she physically couldn’t cry anymore, wracking dry sobs shaking her whole body._

_Sheer exhaustion finally pulled her under, the last thoughts before she passed out being of her parents’ smiling faces before flames consumed them, and she remembered that she hadn’t cried since before their deaths._

_She hadn’t fucking cried at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, for one (I don't know about you guys), have never murdered that many people (I say as though I've murdered anyone lmaoooo) so have no way to know how one suddenly loses the emotional barrier one's put up, but as just like...a human, have you guys ever had those epiphany moments where like...your brain suddenly Processes and suddenly everything is TOO real? Because poor Scylla just went through that. It's the only way I can imagine her sort of realizing the full extent of what she did (without having Raelle around to act as a lens for her like in canon): just hitting rock bottom and having one of those moments where her brain actually computes. 
> 
> Also like, again, when I tell y'all the unit scenes get me off my confidence game, believe me. That scene is a combo of several that I had to trim down just for sheer readability sake and I'm happy with the end result, actually. But what a fuckin' process. 
> 
> Next update will be Wednesday, barring any unforeseen issues, so we can get back to our regularly schedule programming...


	11. Dissension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Back with another chapter, thank you all for the comments on the last chapter, I'm so glad you guys enjoyed finally seeing a bit of Scylla's humanity. It definitely had to come out at some point, and personally that was one of my favorite, if heart-wrenching, scenes to write. Poor baby had to face the music, and I think even she knew it, in her own way. 
> 
> Anyway, no warnings for this chapter! Tbh the unit continues to try my patience with trying to accurately portray them, but honestly these scenes with them and the next few over the next few chapters are some of my favorites. We love some unit unity and Raelle needs the support of her unit now, even if she doesn't quite realize it now. Lucky for her, her unit loves her. 
> 
> I'll leave it at that, hope you enjoy! :)

They found Anacostia in her office, the entire thing looking exactly as it had when they’d first entered it a less than two days before, including the people in it. Anacostia, stood by the board, and Scylla – apparently done with whatever she’d been working on in the Rec room – sat on the opposite end of the long boardroom table, feet up and crossed, fingers laced, looking attentively at Anacostia before turning her attention to the sudden ruckus of the three of them entering the room. 

Scylla raised an eyebrow at them, the corner of her mouth ticking up when she saw Raelle, but disappearing into a frown as she took in the rest of the unit. 

Anacostia, too, looked a bit concerned, but also affronted. “Ladies,” she greeted, capping the marker in her hands, “I thought I told you to knock,”

“We need to talk to you,” Abigail blurted, glancing over at Scylla, “Alone,”

Anacostia raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I’m in the middle of a meeting,” she pointed at Scylla with her marker. 

“No, it’s fine,” Scylla said, sending Abigail a smile that was forced and incredibly, terrifyingly saccharine. Even Abigail had the sense to look a little unsure, though she tried to hide it, squaring her shoulders. “We can reconvene later. Clearly, something important has come up,”

“Clearly,” Anacostia said, raising her eyebrow at Scylla. 

Some kind of silent, and quick, exchange happened before their eyes, and something must have been decided because Scylla nodded and stood, walking around the table to head out the door. Scylla’s features softened as she passed Raelle, sending her a genuine smile, looking happy to see her but opting not to stop and say anything. 

She took her leave, not bothering to shut the door behind her, so Tally did it. 

“Ladies,” Anacostia said, exasperated. “What’s so important that you forgot the common courtesy of knocking?”

“We need to know why you trust Scylla,” Abigail said emphatically. “Because we don’t understand how or why we should,”

Anacostia raised an eyebrow, looking at Raelle, who glanced away. How much had Scylla told her? How much did she know? 

“Oh?”

Abigail nodded her head, “You have to understand, Anacostia: she’s a terrorist. She basically kidnapped us in the woods. Her track record when it comes to Raelle isn’t exactly the best. How do you know that you can trust her? How do you know she’s really changed? What if-”

Anacostia raised her hand, effectively cutting Abigail off. “Her being with you in the woods was my plan, not hers. But I wouldn’t have sent anyone else for the job, truly,” she raised an eyebrow at the unit as they all looked back at her, surprised.

Anacostia sighed, folding her arms behind her back. “And do you all feel like this?” she asked, looking directly at Raelle who, despite honestly not knowing how to answer, found herself nodding, and Tally did as well.

Tally spoke next, “We know that you probably have a reason, but we don’t know what it is. And you haven’t exactly told us. An alliance between you two doesn’t mean an alliance between us, and you have to admit…it’s sketchy. We trust you, but-”

“If you trust me,” Anacostia said, stern, “Then you trust her. Ramshorn and I have been working as allies for nearly as long as you have been in the military,”

“That’s still not very long,” Abigail piped up.

“It’s more than enough time to learn to trust someone you once disliked. Even hated,” Anacostia shot back, staring at each one of them pointedly.

Raelle felt herself flush. Anacostia had a point: after all, she’d watched Raelle and Abigail go from their hostile beginnings to where they were now, which was truly saying something.

“Look,” Anacostia said, leaning over the table, looking at them seriously, “I understand that it’s hard to get your heads around. Sometimes I can’t even believe it. However,” her expression turned gravely serious: reminiscent of her looks from Basic, “Ramshorn has done more for this operation than any one of you know or can truly appreciate. I’m afraid I can’t go into details: it's not for me to tell. But just know that she has put her life on the line more times in the few short months that she’s been out of prison, than I have seen soldiers do in years or even in their entire time in the military.” She pursed her lips, “I understand your unease at working side by side with someone…who has committed such a terrible act. Truly, it was not an easy decision for me to trust her, either. To work with her. But I have realized that she is sincere in her pursuit of all of this. She is not a threat to us nor anyone in this compound, and we should thank our lucky stars for that, because she is a formidable force,”

Raelle sat, just as stunned as her unit, if their faces were anything to go by, from hearing such high praise from Anacostia Quatermaine. 

Tally snapped out of it first, furrowing her brow. “But, Anacostia…considering all she’s done?”

Anacostia straightened, “I am well aware of what she has done, and what she is capable of. I understand that this is a lot to ask of you, and I understand if the thought of working with her isn’t entirely fathomable to you at this moment, but whether you like it or not, Ramshorn is integral to this operation. If this is a deal breaker, tell me now,” she said bluntly. 

“We haven’t made a decision,” Abigail said, somewhat hushed. 

Anacostia nodded, “Good. Now, if that’s all-”

“You really trust her?” Raelle found herself asking, genuinely curious despite herself. Because…because if Anacostia – _the_ Anacostia Quertermaine, a ranking military officer – could find a way to look beyond what Scylla had done, then maybe...

Raelle cut of the line of thinking, biting her lip. 

Anacostia leveled Raelle with a cool stare. “Don’t you?”

Raelle blinked, shocked by that challenge, before Anacostia turned to the others. “I trust Ramshorn with my life,” she said, deathly serious. “I know it’s hard to believe. But Scylla has proven her loyalty to myself, and to this cause, tenfold. And then some.”

Raelle nodded, and Abigail looked unsure, while Tally looked contemplative. 

“Now, then, if that’s enough for you ladies” Anacostia indicated the door, “and if there’s nothing else-”

“What happens at the end of this?” 

All eyes turned to Tally, who stood a little straighter, jaw set.

Anacostia raised an eyebrow. “At the end of what?”

“At the end of this…revolution, thing. This resistance. Say we say yes. Say we accept your vague proposal and we want in, and we decide to trust you and to trust Scylla. Say that our words and your secret weapon…thing…works. What comes next?”

Anacostia let out a heavy sigh, “What comes next…is up to you. Obviously, we’re hoping for sweeping changes. Negotiations and renegotiations of conscription, leading to eventual abolition of the policy. Our goal ultimately isn’t destruction, but reconstruction. A re-imaging of relations between witches and civilians, and we have a team of people already working on what negotiations will look like: rhetoric for future laws, possible problems and solutions to those problems that may arise while we try to bring about that change. Our plan for resistance isn’t so much to be the gun to the head of the country that forces change: rather, the trigger that sets it all in motion. A tipping of dominoes, in a way. What happens after…you all would have a large say in it, if you so chose. You would be integral to the plan’s success, and we figured you would want a large part in negotiations after. In fact, should you choose…you could be in charge of them. With a team behind you, of course. We would not leave you to the wolves. But, as the face of the resistance…it would only make sense to have you as the face of political change, too.”

“So the ultimate goal…?” Abigail asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is liberation. Is to minimize casualties. Is to stop senseless wars that we have had no choice in fighting. Is to fight entrenched powers that no longer see any humanity in us at all. But,” Anacostia’s expression turned grave, “That outcome is the ideal, ladies. At the end of the day, we cannot guarantee our plan will work. Ultimately, it is up to you if you believe that freedom – true freedom – is a cause worth the sacrifice,” Anacostia smiled at them apologetically. “And I cannot make that decision for you.”

\---

_Her next meeting with Anacostia simultaneously came too quickly, and not quickly enough. She didn’t have any new ideas, but she did have a new resolve, and it was one that surprised even herself, a little bit._

_“I can’t guarantee no violence,” she said, frankly, when Anacostia took her normal seat across from her._

_Anacostia raised her eyebrow._

_Scylla clasped her hands together on the table, “When I promised you no Spree tactics, I lied. We can’t not use Spree tactics, Anacostia,” Scylla pursed her lips, “But I promise if we do, it won’t be with the purpose of murder. It won’t be to take out civilians, or with the intent of violence, but Spree have more in their arsenal than you think, and counting them out is stupid. I can’t guarantee no one will get hurt or die, because that’s the nature of revolution,” Scylla said sharply._

_Honestly, since her little break down and her subsequent pass-out – which had lasted so long she’d ended up waking up to a fixer examining her in her cell – things had come into sharp focus. The entire world suddenly felt new. The lights in her cell were too bright, but they had suddenly become bright in a different way, and she couldn’t describe it, but her resolve had hardened. Her resolve to do what, she wasn’t sure. To make change. To create it. To free herself, and her cousins, of the chains that bound them: military or otherwise. A fire had been lit within her, and she was a Ramshorn: when there was a fire, they burned, and they burned bright. She wanted the world to feel her ardor, and so she would let it out, when the time was right._

_“But I will do what I can to assure that the tactics are as non-lethal as possible. Can you agree to that?”_

_Anacostia stared at her, eyebrow raised, confusion written plainly on her face._

_Still, after a scrutinizing pause, she nodded. “I can,”_

_Scylla nodded as well: once, curtly. “Good. How is your search going?”_

_Anacostia sighed, “Slow. Turns out people aren’t quick to pick up on subtle hints that we’re looking to overthrow the military,”_

_Scylla felt the corner of her mouth tick up at that, “I can sympathize,”_

_Anacostia sent her a dubious look that almost made her laugh._

_“I did think of something, though,” Anacostia said suddenly, and Scylla perked up._

_“I’m all ears,” she said._

_“You can look for dissenters too,”_

_Scylla raised her eyebrows, and Anacostia nodded, “I know that…many probably don’t come through here, but it’s fairly well known that Alder sends people here who she finds to be particularly…troublesome. Difficult. People who are likely to question the military and what it does. She thinks sending them here will show them what they’re really up against. If you keep your eye out…maybe you won’t convince them of anything, but if you pass the names to me, I can try to contact them. See if they wouldn’t be sympathetic to our cause,”_

_Scylla nodded, feeling a smile creep up on her despite herself. It…wasn’t a bad idea. Some of the guards on rotation didn’t exactly seem like they were having a great time, and Scylla was nothing if not a smooth talker, when she needed to be. A fact that she knew Anacostia knew all too well._

_“I can do that,” she agreed._

_“Okay. Good. That’s something. Any other ideas?”_

_Scylla unlaced and re-laced her fingers, licking her lips._

_“Some,”_

_“Let’s begin, then,”_

\---

A couple days later, they still were no closer to reaching a decision. Not really. 

Not that they didn’t talk about it – exhaustively, actually – but to Raelle, it largely felt like they were going in circles. They needed more information on the operation, but thanks to the collars, no one really gave them any information. Anacostia had at least been a little helpful, if vague, and they did feel a bit better after talking to her, but…still. 

In an effort to not drive each other absolutely insane, Abigail ended up spending the next few days in the Rec room, pouring over the various blueprints and pages and pages and pages spread out all over the room. No one seemed particularly worried about her doing so, despite being tight-lipped, and Raelle could only assume it was because whatever it was they were working on…had never been seen or used before. 

Tally, for her part, gave up fairly quickly on trying to decipher the schematics, and took to wandering the halls. They did learn that there was a library, though it was mostly a room with make-shift shelves and a patchwork bunch of books, ranging every genre and not particularly organized. Tally made it her mission to fix it, and Abigail and Raelle had just left her to it. 

Raelle mostly ended up haunting the kitchen and wandering the halls, always ending up completely lost, as predicted. There was another, smaller Rec room, with make-shift training equipment that she and Abigail started using to blow off steam, which they’d both definitely needed. 

And, despite sometimes deliberately wandering the halls in search of Scylla, Raelle found her oddly hard to find. She knew that Scylla was often either in the Rec room or Anacostia’s office, but when she wasn’t in either of those places, she seemed to just…disappear. Which was just as well: it gave Raelle space to think, uninterrupted. 

Not that she liked that, her own thoughts going in circles, so she found herself in the training room, alone, practicing hand-to-hand maneuvers and going ham on a punching bag, just to get her thoughts to stop. 

Sweaty and gross, she walked the halls. Tally’s library-thing had turned into a multi-day project, and Raelle decided to check on her. Raelle wasn’t big on things like cataloging books, but she was physically tired and really, she had nothing else to do. It was find Tally, or find Abigail, and she really didn’t feel like hearing Abigail muttering about how none of the blueprints “made any damn sense” and then insisting they should do some combat practice. Raelle had had her ass handed to her too many times for that to be appetizing. There really wasn’t…much to do, around the compound. They were excluded from building whatever the weapon was, they weren’t allowed in Anacostia’s office, which those of the compound actually had dubbed “the war room”. They were given free reign otherwise, but going outside too often was considered an unnecessary risk and there was only so much small talk in the kitchen that Raelle could handle. 

And the compound, while large, wasn’t exactly extensive. Raelle had gotten herself lost in it quite a bit and had found quite a bit because of it (she’d run into the library, a mushroom garden, several unfinished tunnels and rooms, supply closets filled to the brim with what appeared to be the odd metal pellets, and another one filled with cargo that wasn’t labeled, and several barracks, not to even mention all of the doors she found that she couldn’t freely open), so she’d managed to get her bearings enough to find her way around without too much trouble. 

She rounded the corner that she knew would lead her to Tally’s library, the door ajar. She slowed when she heard voices from within, though. Hushed, but calm. 

“Why did you do it?” Tally’s question was quiet. 

Raelle had to strain to hear.

“Why wouldn’t I? What did I have to lose? It was for the cause. Everything and anything can end up being justified when it’s for the cause, can it not?” the person with her answered.

“Not everything,”

“No? If it’s not…then is it really a cause you believe in?”

Silence greeted that, so Raelle pushed the door open. 

Tally snapped her gaze to Raelle. Next to her, Scylla turned from looking at Tally, to looking curiously at their intruder. 

“Hey, Raelle!” Tally said, voice nearly a squeak.

Scylla, of course, simply smiled. “Raelle,” she said, her name serving as a proper greeting from Scylla’s lips. 

Raelle stared. It was…an odd sight, honestly. Were she unaware of the circumstances, Raelle could almost pretend that they were back at War College, two Specialists looking up information for their class on military history. It was actually a bit absurd, how…normal, it looked. 

It didn’t feel normal, though. It felt like…an intrusion of some kind – seeing Tally, alone, with Scylla, of all people. Raelle raised her eyebrows.

“Um, hey,” she said, “I was just coming by to see if Tally needed any help, but,” she indicated the two of them, “I guess not?”

Scylla and Tally exchanged a look before Scylla put down the book she had in her hands. 

“I was just about to take my leave, actually. You have great timing,” she stepped out from her post and headed to the door, smiling at Raelle in that oddly sincere way she seemed to have adopted. She walked past Raelle, Raelle’s eyes following her. Scylla stopped right at the door to turn and give Tally an almost…pointed look, before taking her leave. 

Raelle raised an eyebrow and turned to Tally, who gave her a sheepish shrug. 

“She found me earlier. Seemed stupid to refuse help, there are a lot of books,”

Raelle held up her hands, “I didn’t say anything. You’re allowed to talk to her, Tal.”

Tally relaxed, if only just. “I don’t really know where we stand with her. I know Abigail’s not exactly her biggest fan.”

Raelle walked to Tally’s side, taking over the cart that Scylla had abandoned. She sighed. “Abigail’s just being…Abigail, I think,”

“She’s scared,” Tally said quietly, which had Raelle laughing, if only just. 

“Abigail? Scared? Next you’re going to tell me hell’s frozen over,” she shook her head.

Tally huffed, “I’m serious, Rae. Abigail stopped caring about the military a long time ago, you and I both know it. She doesn’t really trust military leadership anymore: she certainly doesn’t trust Alder. None of us do. She has no reason to be so…cautious, about Scylla. Besides the obvious.”

Raelle looked at her, slightly incredulous, “Yeah, but the obvious is pretty big, Tal,”

Tally sighed. “It is. But she’s acting like Scylla poses a threat to us, personally, which she doesn’t, and which Spree never really has, outside of a battlefield. We already know they don’t target witches. Her fight was never with us, and let’s be real: Abigail doesn’t care all that much about civilians. Not like I do. So why is Abigail so against what Scylla and Anacostia are offering us?”

Raelle shrugged, “Because Scylla’s a terrorist?”

Tally shook her head, “Abigail’s not wrong for holding that against her, granted. I think…if it weren’t for Anacostia supporting her, I’d be right where Abigail is. But…if Anacostia trusts her,” Tally tilted her head at Raelle, “If you trust her-”

Raelle sighed heavily. “I don’t know if you guys should trust me,” she said quietly, fidgeting with the pages of a book she’d picked up. “I have…a connection, with her. It clouds my judgment,”

“Or maybe it lets you see the truth to her,”

Raelle looked up at that, surprised. 

Tally nodded. “I think, in this case…Abigail’s righteous anger is keeping her from seeing the big picture. And…there’s nothing wrong with that. But you know that if it weren’t for you, she would have already left this compound. She couldn’t care less about Anacostia. She certainly wouldn’t trust Scylla. At all. And honestly…I think she’s scared, actually. And, in the end…it all boils down to you,”

Raelle did laugh at that, “Yeah, right,”

“No, I’m serious. She’s scared for you. Us, to a lesser extent, but mostly, you. Do you remember, in that battle simulation in War College, where she jumped out of a moving helicopter to save you after you’d gotten stuck on the ground in hostile territory? I know it wasn’t real, but in the moment, if felt like it,” Tally gave Raelle a soft look. “She would die for you, Rae. And she sees Scylla as a major threat to you. She’s hurt you in the past,” Tally nodded to Raelle’s palm, “Abigail’s never cared much about civilians, only about military legacy. She doesn’t have that anymore. Not really. Her family name can only carry her so far, and she’s always wanted to prove herself outside of it, anyway. The only thing she cares about is us, and Adil, and finding the truth. 

“And honestly, I don’t think, not even for a minute, that if you didn’t have that connection with Scylla, she would have even stayed to entertain them. She would have said no immediately. Probably told them to go fuck themselves and she would have stormed right back out of the compound. But…you do have that connection. You do trust Anacostia and you even trust Scylla, and Abigail’s scared of that trust you have in a terrorist. But she also sees the value in it. She sees the merit in it because she loves you.”

Raelle blinked, surprised. 

“And that’s certainly part of why I’m choosing to hear them out,” Tally tilted her head, “And…honestly, for me, anyway…this seems like a real possibility. Real change. I wish we knew more, but…for me, this is a better path than the one we were on. Cogs in a machine. If I’m going to die, one way or another,” she clenched her jaw, “It better be for a cause I believe in,”

Raelle squinted at Tally, surprised to hear those echoed words. Damn, she knew that Scylla could be convincing, but she’d only been around Tally a few days. 

Just what the hell had they been talking about? 

Raelle bit her lip, curious despite herself. After all, she knew what it felt like, to be relentlessly charmed by Scylla: needled at. It wasn’t necessarily any of her business anyway, but…she couldn’t help but be curious. 

In the end, she mulled it over in silence for a few moments before she decided to let it be, instead picking up a stack of books from the cart and asking Tally what she should do with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I think the scene with Raelle and Tally is one of my favorites between the unit in this fic. I really love the dynamic between these two, they're simultaneously so similar and so different. I think Tally's ability to understand Scylla comes from a completely different place than Raelle's, but Scylla and Tally also have such an interesting dynamic, too. I think that Tally, before becoming disillusioned with the military, would have never even considered working with a terrorist, either. But facing the possibility of real change...I think, much like Scylla, she'd have almost a one-track mind that she'd be willing to overlook or outright ignore past actions in favor of a real possibility of reaching her ideal. They're both so driven, aahhhhh. 
> 
> Anyway, clearly I like getting into character's heads ahahaha, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, drop me a line if so and I'll have the next chapter up soon. We're almost half way through this fic now. :O


	12. Danger Flirts but Deception Delivers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, we're half-way through the fic! Thank you all for your wonderful comments!
> 
> No warnings for this chapter. Tbh I don't think I have any warnings for any more of the chapters so I may just stop saying this altogether? 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

_Scylla kept an eye out for new recruits. The mission, honestly, made her life a little bit easier. So did the seeds she had started to perfect: ones that allowed her to see outside of her cell, that allowed her to watch the guards go by in Red Wing, and that let her peek out over the horizon during sunrise. It was nice, to be able to tell time. It brought a much-needed structure to her otherwise intentionally unstructured life. It wasn’t hard to figure out that outdoor guard duty followed a one-hour rotation period, which made it so much easier than having to count seconds, or estimate minutes or hours like she’d had to do before._

_It also gave her a lot of information on her guards, which she used to her full advantage. It was…incredibly easy, actually, to unsettle anyone who was new: she was nice to them._

_It seemed like that should have been way too simple, but it worked. She was friendly. She greeted them. She was fun, flirty. Scylla had always liked to be a bit like that. Charming. It caught people off-guard, and it meant that, despite her reputation as dangerous – a reputation she had long been cultivating – new guards were always unprepared for her disarmingly charming wit and flirty smiles. She dialed it up to eleven, most days, and it meant that guards always had an odd crisis of identity, which she loved to watch. Reconciling the sweet, harmless looking woman with the image in their head of a mass-murderer. It was pure entertainment, honestly, and once she realized how well it worked, well…she couldn’t stop herself._

_Some of the guards were genuinely beautiful, too. And Scylla was a firm believer that everyone had something beautiful about them, and it wasn’t hard to pick out that thing and focus on it relentlessly, until she had her audience eating from the palm of her hand._

_She turned it into a game, of sorts, and all told…these things got her through the day, and through interrogations, which had become less and less frequent as they started to realize that they weren’t going to get a damn thing out of her._

_And honestly…she genuinely loved mobile library. It was nice to just…have the time to sit down and read, and to practice a little wordless and seedless work while she did it._

_In the end, settling into prison life almost became…nice. Despite the guards in Red trying to not maintain any discernible schedule, she finally felt…well, as settled as she could be._

_Despite that, Anacostia floated the idea of having her withdrawn from Cotton Mather._

_Even if was just that - an idea - Scylla shut it down immediately._

_“No,” she said, so quickly that Anacostia hadn’t even finished her sentence. “No,” she repeated, with less urgency. She winced to herself._

_It went unspoken, but from Anacostia’s eyebrow raise alone, she could tell that Quartermaine wanted her to elaborate._

_But she didn’t. She couldn’t._

_Because the truth was…that night was still painfully clear in her memory, and she kept it alive purposefully. The pain it inflicted in her was a different kind of pain to her usual. It wasn’t her own loss, the loss of her parents. It wasn’t a loss that added to her darkness, but that added to her sense of remorse, as odd and muted as it was._

_And…she deserved it. She deserved to serve time at Cotton Mather. The punishment was well-earned, and despite the myriad of excuses she could use to remind Anacostia that her staying in Cotton Mather was for the better – she was off of military and Spree radar, she was safe, she had tons of time to plan – in the end…she deserved it._

_She deserved to be in a lot longer, really. She knew that, too. In all actuality, she should be executed, and the thought always sent a shiver down her spine. But she was trying something new, now. Something that, with any luck…would make their deaths worth it._

_As worth it as possible, all things considered._

_After all, she hadn’t been lying, when she said to Anacostia that she wanted to reduce the possible bloodshed. She’d seen enough of it. People would possibly die, but if they could reduce the amount…if they could prevent it, why wouldn’t they? She’d struck an odd sort of balance within herself, a quiet sense of deserved justice for those who she had killed. Prison wasn’t enough to make up for their deaths, but she could promise, if even just to herself, to do better. To try, anyway._

_She couldn’t guarantee it, but she owed it to them: to make sure their deaths…their murders, weren’t in vain. Weren’t nothing. And she owed it to herself too: to end the whole system, once and for all. And so she would._

_Anacostia kept her eyebrows raised, questioning, but finally seemed to accept that Scylla wasn’t going to elaborate, so she merely continued._

_“Okay,” Anacostia agreed._

_“Okay.”_

\---

Raelle saw Scylla heading to the kitchen, so she trailed behind her, curiosity burning within her despite herself about just what – and for how long – she and Tally had been talking. 

Scylla rounded the corner into the actual kitchen, and Raelle followed right behind her, stopping when she almost ran into a small group of people right at the entrance. She blinked, surprised. The group was small, maybe twelve people at most, though she wasn’t going to count. Scylla cut through them easily, stopping and talking to someone who handed her a bag. A bag that everyone else was wearing, as well. Raelle raised an eyebrow just as Scylla looked up and spotted her. 

“Raelle,” Scylla said, sounding genuinely surprised to see her. “Are you coming on the foraging trip?” she asked, furrowing her brow. 

Raelle felt the tips of her ears burn as everyone’s curious attention suddenly turned to her. 

“Um,” she muttered. 

Scylla smiled softly, “You should come,”

“Can I?” Raelle hesitated, to which a few of the people laughed. 

“Of course you can, the more the merrier,” someone said, smiling at Raelle. Raelle nodded dumbly, and Scylla took the bag on her shoulder off and handed it to Raelle, grabbing another one for herself. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Live a little,” Scylla said with a wink, nudging Raelle’s shoulder with her own as the crowd started to move, following the person who had told Raelle she could come along. Raelle put the satchel over her head and on her shoulder like everyone else had, before following behind Scylla. 

As a group, they left the compound, gathering above ground and convening to discuss their route, though Raelle didn’t pay much attention. They broke off into sets of four and headed all in different directions, Raelle automatically following Scylla. She trailed behind at first, and Scylla would glance back and give her furtive smiles as they both walked behind the others in their little pod. Finally, though, Raelle matched Scylla’s pace. 

“Do you do foraging a lot?” Raelle asked quietly, to get the conversation going, and Scylla nodded.

“We go at least once a week, it depends on a lot of factors, really. We have a few hidden gardens, that’s where we get most of our food from. Sometimes we do hunting trips as well. Those aren’t as frequent, just because they tend to be a bit riskier,” Scylla shrugged, “But I try to go when I can. It’s nice to be outside,”

Right, Scylla had been in prison for ages. The compound must have felt like another, lighter version of the same hell. 

“Definitely nice to have the option,” Raelle echoed, and Scylla huffed. 

“I certainly am not complaining about it,” she said. 

They settled into a silence, still walking, careful to not make too much noise in the underbrush. 

“So, um. What have you and Tally been talking about?” Raelle asked. 

Scylla stopped in her walking, however briefly, giving Raelle a once-over as she paused as well.

“She didn’t tell you?” 

Raelle let out a frustrated noise. “I mean, no?”

“I’m not sure if I should tell you, then. It’s really not my place to come between you and your unit. And honestly, Raelle: I don’t make a habit of divulging secrets that aren’t mine to tell. You can ask any one of my interrogators at Cotton Mather that, though I don’t feel like you need the reminder…”

Raelle huffed, shaking her head. “I don’t,” she said, before continuing, “Tally doesn’t have any secrets…”

That got an eyebrow raise from Scylla, “Doesn’t she?” she tutted. “Regardless, I don’t feel like stepping on any toes. Especially when it comes to your unit. I feel like I already have,” she shrugged helplessly, “But, for what it’s worth…I see a lot of myself in Tally,”

Raelle stared incredulously. “But you guys are nothing alike?”

“Aren’t we? Stubborn. Idealistic. Willing to live and die for the cause we believe in. Sound familiar?” she quirked an eyebrow, tilting her head only just. “If I may ask…what broke her out of her military loyalty?”

It was Raelle’s turn to tilt her head, taking Scylla in and seeing nothing but genuine curiosity. 

Raelle sighed, “You remember, in Cotton Mather, when you guessed that I was at the City Drop that ended with a real mission against Spree?”

Scylla nodded. 

“Well, you were right. There were civilians in the convoy. Hostages. Tally could sense them, and she told Anacostia, who was our direct link with General Alder. Alder ordered the strike, regardless, and Anacostia tried to lie her way out of it. That was the start of it: she couldn’t bear the realization that the military could just consider innocent lives to be collateral damage. She hasn’t really stopped doubting them since,”

“She has a good heart,” Scylla said quietly. “She would have made a die-hard loyal soldier. Breaking her out of that will be one of the biggest mistakes the military will have ever made.”

Raelle furrowed her brow, and Scylla nodded. “Loyalty like that can’t be taught. Idealism like that can’t be taught. It’s natural, or home-grown, and it can be nurtured and cultivated, if treated properly. With time and care, it can turn into blind trust, unflagging adoration, blind belief. She would have done anything for them. Things like kill hundreds, or even thousands, as long as they were deemed enemy combatants, or terrorists – less than human for killing innocent people. As long as the military gave her reason, as long as they weren’t the people she swore to protect that were being slaughtered: as long as she was killing, or dying, for the Cause, she would have done it without hesitation. We’re two sides of the same coin, or we would have been in our given times. 

“I was just like her, when I was with Spree. In many ways, I still am, but my loyalties have shifted,” Scylla shook her head before looking Raelle dead in the eyes, “You have to work hard, to break someone that entrenched in an ideology. But once that loyalty is broken…once that idolization is severed, it never returns. Not really. It can never be rebuilt. Everything is taken with a grain of salt, second-guessed, analyzed, deconstructed, and stored for later,” a contemplative pause, and then, “She’d make an excellent spy,”

Raelle couldn’t help but laugh at that, “Tally would be a terrible spy, she’s way too honest. She’d just tell someone to their face that she considered them to be a liar, that she didn’t trust them and that she was working tirelessly to tear them down. I’m honestly shocked she hasn’t gone directly up to Alder herself and said just that. And it’s not for lack of trying, god knows she stirred up a lot of shit after City Drop,”

Scylla smiled a genuine smile, “I can see that. And that direct honesty, you’ll notice, is where she and I differ.”

“Definitely,” Raelle muttered, and Scylla let out a chuckle.

Scylla shook her head, amusement still evident in her features and her eyes, “She’s fierce, Tally. I admire that about her,”

Raelle felt a little…taken aback by the compliment, though a warmth spread within her despite that. It sounded like Scylla genuinely meant it, and considering how often she’d heard Scylla speak highly of anyone in the military, she couldn’t help the small swell of pride that rose within her that Tally had left such a positive impression on someone like Scylla.

Raelle frowned to herself, not wanting to examine the implications of that sudden warmth, so she didn’t. She shoved it aside and nodded ahead to their path. “Maybe we should catch up?” she asked, and Scylla shrugged. 

“We can, or we can just…wander on our own. That’s what foraging’s all about, after all,”

Raelle looked at her, Scylla quirking an eyebrow invitingly. She looked like she wanted to hold out her hand, but, perhaps wisely, she didn’t, leaving the ball entirely in Raelle’s court. 

Raelle knew that she should insist on following the others. She knew that she should back away from…whatever this was, this unspoken thing building between them. She should leave it be. Retreat from it slowly. Leave it behind her, like she had been so prepared to do when she left Scylla behind at Cotton Mather. 

She should, she should, she should, and yet…

“Fine,” she conceded, and Scylla’s delighted smile was nearly blinding in its brilliance. 

\---

_Anacostia was pacing, and for once, Scylla wished she could join her. She played with her cuffs instead, distractedly whispering the seed she’d been practicing as of late to break them, and to fix them again, too. It was a little seed she’d cooked up on her own, a combination of a few that had taken her some time to start to master, but she was fairly happy with the results._

_Anacostia paid her no mind, which was fine. They’d been in “interrogation” for well over an hour, and though Scylla knew from experience that interrogations could last for days – or even longer, if it was deemed necessary – they didn’t have much more time to drag things out. Certainly not days. Unlike the interrogators at Cotton Mather, Anacostia had a life outside of the detention camp, though Scylla didn’t doubt that she probably stayed on the island for at least a few days, feigning reports and pretending to review intel gathered from other interrogations. Anacostia had really settled into her role of espionage, and if Scylla wasn’t careful, she would dare say she was…proud._

_They made a great team, after all. Scylla had already rattled off the few guards she felt might be sympathetic to their cause, and Anacostia had started pacing, and hadn’t stopped, for a good fifteen minutes, if Scylla was counting properly._

_“Masters is from SoCal. San Diego,” Anacostia finally broke her pacing silence, and Scylla straightened in her chair._

_“Is she?” she asked, because she genuinely hadn’t known._

_“I checked her records. Cienfuegos is also from the west coast,” Anacostia shook her head, “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Ramshorn,”_

_Scylla shrugged, “I’m doing what I can,”_

_Anacostia sighed, “I know. I know you are, really. And your efforts have paid off. We have people everywhere now, we have numbers. Far more than I ever thought we could have,”_

_Scylla scoffed, “I told you, Anacostia. Dissenters,”_

_“I know, they’re there. We have them now. Lots of them. Word has even gotten out to some Dodgers, but they’re hesitant to come forward. They don’t trust me,”_

_“Why would they? You’re military, and my name carries no weight to it: none of the Dodger families ever met me as Scylla Ramshorn, and I doubt I ever met any of them with their real names,”_

_Anacostia pursed her lips, “Some of them are in communication with an old friend of mine, retired military who slipped underground after her discharge. She’s confident she can get a few of them on our side-”_

_“If any of them are in the Cession, have them speak with the Ho-Chunk in Twin Rivers. Tell them Amy Seely said to trust you. They’ll get the word out,”_

_Anacostia raised her eyebrow and Scylla nodded, “We frequented their part of the Cession, they were always gracious hosts. I learned a lot of what I know from them, and they’ll know that name. We used the same ones when we visited them. No use in pretending we had different ones. If they need convincing, tell them ‘under moon, over stars’. It was our passphrase. Only way to know if people were who they said they were, or if they genuinely knew us, or if they were military police posing as Dodgers,”_

_Anacostia stared at Scylla for a moment, as though she had temporarily forgotten that Scylla had come from a family of Dodgers. “And if they don’t believe that?”_

_“They will,” she said quietly, “They don’t know what happened to my parents. For all they know, we’re still on the run. If they think I… or well, we, sent you, they’ll know you’re someone to trust. They don’t trust easily, but we always had a great relationship with them,” Scylla spoke softly, sadly. It was true: most of the few good memories she had were from her time with them._

_What would they think of her now?_

_She shook her head before the thought could start to poison her good spirits._

_“And if you get them to get the word out, you should be able to get it out to a few Spree who are looking for a change, too. But that’ll have to be handled with extreme caution: Spree is like the military in that they try to instill deep and fierce loyalty. Unless they come to the Ho-Chunk first, I wouldn’t trust them,”_

_Anacostia nodded. “Fine. But that’s even more people, Ramshorn. I can’t keep trying to keep a loose web of people connected over the entire country, it’s just not feasible. There’s no way we can keep that hidden, no way I can keep making up reasons to contact bases all over the damn country without eventually raising suspicions,” Anacostia let out a frustrated sigh, “We need somewhere to put these people, to unify them and get them out of their bases or their hiding places, so that we don’t have to worry about them blowing their own covers, let alone ours. And for the love of the goddess,” Anacostia leveled her with a desperate but annoyed stare, “We need a plan,”_

_Scylla sighed, muttering her seed and running her finger over the cool steel of her cuffs, smiling to herself as the metal gave way, a clean cut, like a warm knife through butter. “The plan…” she said as she reversed her ministrations, watching the metal meld back together, “is to minimize casualties. To find a way to possibly make this as non-combative as possible. We may have numbers, but-”_

_“Not on the scale that the military does,” Anacostia filled in, sounding defeated._

_Scylla nodded, “We can’t beat them with force. But perhaps…we can beat them with something else,”_

_Anacostia groaned. They’d floated the idea of using secret and sealed military intel to scandalize the public: it had worked with other, non-military things, such as the Panama Papers revealing a massive tax evasion scandal that had led to major reforms in not only the US government, but in every member of the Hague and then some. It had sparked international outrage, and change, while not swiftly delivered, had come. It was the largest example they had of such a thing working, and Scylla was well aware that even with that idea, really, they were just grasping at straws. After all, most civilians were at least somewhat aware of the proxy wars going on around the world, even if they didn’t see the carnage the battles wrought, safe in their little ivory towers built on the backs of, and with the blood of, conscripted witches. And they’d done little to try to stop their government from entering such petty wars, gambling with lives that weren’t their own._

_It wasn’t a lot, but it was something, and Scylla and Anacostia chose to roll with it, along with a few other ideas that included “killing Alder”, which wasn’t so much a viable option (Anacostia had shot it down as soon as Scylla had somewhat-jokingly proposed it) as a little fantasy that Scylla liked to hold onto. She knew that ultimately, it would likely cause more harm than good, but, well…old habits died hard. Part of what Spree had been fighting for was that loss of faith in the Witch Army as an institution. Some Congresspeople had even been rumored to have been thinking of introducing a bill to disband the Army after a few relentless Spree attacks, Scylla’s own included. And at the time, she’d been excited by that prospect: disbanding meant no Army to be conscripted to. Clearly, things had calmed down on that front, but Scylla knew that Spree considered liberation, by any means necessary, as the ultimate goal. It didn’t matter if that meant the government tearing up the Salem Accords, it didn’t matter if that turned into a witch vs. civilian war, as civilian hatred for witches would inevitably surge once witches no longer served a purpose that civilians deemed “useful”._

_The thought had Scylla scowling. She still agreed with Spree, honestly. But in the end, even if Spree reached its goal through tearing up the Salem Accord, how many more sisters and cousins would they lose to a war with non-witches? They were outnumbered, firstly. And she had no doubt that civilians would be quick to create new technology to combat them. To kill them. And then what? They’d be wiped out._

_In retrospect, Spree’s tactics and violence seemed like bad, desperate actions. But, well…she was desperate. Spree were desperate. Their fate was military or die: one in the same, really. A death sentence no matter which way it was spun._

_Every path she’d encountered ultimately lead to annihilation, which wasn’t what she wanted. It gave her a headache, and she broke her cuffs once more just to be able to rub her temples._

_Still, they’d sort of settled on a few possibilities, though “Panama-papers-esque” scandal was really all they had, but Scylla knew they could make something of it. They just needed the time._

_“Can we propose it to our recruits?” Scylla asked, after a moment._

_Anacostia snorted, “If you want to give them a reason to doubt an already patchwork operation, sounds like a great idea,”_

_Scylla rolled her eyes at Anacostia, “Your pessimism, as always, is ever-so appreciated,” she grumbled, “We don’t tell them we don’t have a plan, obviously. We give them vague clues about it and allude to having one but wanting their input. People will jump at the chance to help, if they really want to believe in our cause. And if they’ve agreed to await your orders, then they certainly do. And if you gather enough Dodgers…you’d be surprised the creativity we have among us. Comes with being on the run. We can do quite a lot, with very little. Have a bit of faith, Anacostia,” Scylla scolded._

_Anacostia sighed. “Not my wheelhouse,” she said flatly, which made Scylla laugh._

_“Neither was this alliance, but so far, so good,”_

_Anacostia simply raised a skeptical eyebrow at that. Scylla knew that Anacostia knew that they were entirely flying by the seat of their pants on this one, but they couldn’t lose faith. Scylla had lost it once, for only a few hours, and it had been the bleakest moment of her entire existence. And she had many._

_Losing faith now would just crumble what little they did have, and she couldn’t allow that. For some reason…for so many that she wasn’t quite ready to unpack, they had to keep going. They had to figure it out. Because the alternative was the status quo, and that could not stand._

_It just couldn’t._

_Anacostia heaved out a sigh, but said, quietly, resigned. “Fine. I’ll put out feelers with your friends in the Cession. But we still need a place, our numbers are too great and too spread out, it’s too risky to keep-” she started reiterating, but Scylla stopped listening._

_Her friends in the Cession._

_The Cession._

_Fire towers._

_She felt a smile break out onto her face, which had Anacostia halt in her talking, knitting her eyebrows, entirely confused by Scylla’s sudden high spirits._

_She hadn’t been there in years, it was true. It would definitely need some sprucing, and it would probably take her a while to remember the seed her parents had used to gain access, but it was there, and if Anacostia could get in touch with her contacts, then all wasn’t lost…_

_“I know a place,” she said, grinning with excitement._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When she says "I know a place" and takes you to a secret bunker. 😏😏
> 
> Also though like, did anyone else watch Playground and think, immediately "Wow, Amy Seely is just Scylla having to pretend she's not a witch around a bunch of civilians and learning how to kill a lot of people before joining Spree" or was that just me? 😂 Like tbqh, praise be to Amalia for playing more than one unhinged/very angry wlw. I know Amy's not confirmed wlw but she and Scylla share the same energy so it's canon, I don't make the rules, sorry. Also, another one of her roles, Alena, was confirmed wlw and she was pretty unhinged. I hope Amalia gets more roles like that (after MFS has it's entire full run and satisfying ending, I speak it into existence!) because they're an aesthetic that I'm here for. Hell even Nico, who was maybe wlw (??) was also pretty unhinged. It's a Look thank you Amalia.
> 
> And can we talk about Scylla's iconic line "Live a little"? 🥺🥺 I had to fit it in there somewhere! 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed, drop a line if so!


	13. Chispas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Back with another chapter for you, thank you for all of the wonderful comments on the last one! ^_^ 
> 
> I'll warn you guys now that I'll be away this weekend and thus, away from my laptop, but I don't think it'll affect the upload schedule, but just in case: if the next chapter is late, just know that's why! Also like, you guys...the amount of time I spent editing this chapter, I'm sick of looking at it haha. But I hope you guys enjoy, over all I'm satisfied with how it came out! :)

They ended up walking a path that it seemed Scylla knew, but was otherwise unmarked. They walked through some thick underbrush, which gave way to bushes with berries growing on them, which Scylla determined to be a bit too early to pick. 

“You know a lot about foraging?” Raelle asked, as Scylla popped a few in her mouth and made a sour face. 

Scylla shrugged, “Not as much as I probably should, but being on the run means knowing what plants will kill you, and what ones are safe enough for consumption. We didn’t always spend a lot of time in the wilderness, because sometimes, you stick out like sore thumb. When there’s nothing for miles, any disturbance can be easy to notice. Easier to disappear in cities, but also easier to get caught. Six of one, half-dozen of the other,” she said, resigned, “We didn’t usually spend a lot of time in cities, though. Not if it could be helped. We usually settled in sleepy towns or suburbs that were just large enough that no one would really notice new people there. Places where schools got enough new kids in one year that no one would really remember when I arrived or when I left. But we did spend some time in forests like this, trekking to our next destination, and you can only bring so much food and water when you can’t use a lot of work. But I had to relearn a lot of my foraging skills here.”

“You were on the run a lot, then?” Raelle guessed. 

Scylla looked at her with her brow furrowed, looking as though she was trying to ascertain if Raelle was being serious. “I was a Dodger my whole life. Born to Dodger parents. I never stopped being on the run,”

“Right,” Raelle muttered. She fiddled with her fingers as Scylla stood from where she was crouched in the berry bush. 

“What about you?”

Raelle raised her eyebrows, “What about me?”

Scylla laughed, “Do you know much about foraging? Or were you more of a supermarket kind of gal?” she joked. 

Raelle shrugged, “Corner store and mom and pop shops, mostly. We didn’t really forage but our neighbors hunted and would share the meat, in exchange for my ma doing some work on them,”

Scylla’s eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised, “Your mom did work on civilians?”

Raelle nodded, “Yeah, she um…she was a fixer. Good one, too. She taught me a lot of what she knew so when she, uh…” Raelle pursed her lips, “When she died, I continued her work. Just to help support my family. And theirs.”

“Where were you from?”

“Oh, uh,” Raelle hesitated. She knew that Cession witches tended to be looked down on: they were usually the poorest. Considered weaker bloodlines because they didn’t tend to follow military canon work. “The Cession, by Carolina” she said honestly.

Scylla nodded. “I loved the Cession, when I was younger. I hated moving around, but the Cession was my favorite of places that we stopped in,”

“Did you stop there a lot?” Raelle found herself asking, curious despite herself. She’d already known that she and Scylla likely crossed paths in Fort Salem, but the possibility that they might have also crossed paths in a place as large as the Cession was kind of…crazy, honestly. 

“Yeah. A few times, actually. We tried to end up in the same spot, which was really nice. We made friends with some Ho-Chunk locals, so we liked to stop by when we could, even if it added a few extra days to our trip. It was always worth it,” she had a faraway look in her eyes. Wistful, almost.

Nostalgic, Raelle realized. 

“Making our way to the Cession was actually how we ended up here. How I knew about this place,” Scylla said, after a moment, starting to walk once again. 

Raelle followed. 

“Better times,” she heard Scylla say quietly. “The first time we came here, I had just turned eleven. The compound hadn’t been used in ages and we weren’t going to stay more than a few days, at most. We celebrated my birthday in the kitchen. It was smaller, then. We broke open a fresh jar of jam and baked an orange bread, because my parents had bought canned oranges in the last town we’d passed through and I really loved the tangy taste of orange bread. It was better than cake, especially with fresh strawberry jam on it. It created a really nice balance of sweet and citrus. 

“My dad sang a few songs and my mom and I danced. We didn’t have any candles so my parents made little chispas, which a couple we’d stayed with in New Mexico showed them how to do,” Scylla paused, snapping her fingers. A spark appeared, just over her palm, before fizzling out. “They didn’t show me how to do that until I turned thirteen, but I loved watching the sparks and hearing their snaps. They read me Harry Potter that night, and gave me a fake Hogwarts acceptance letter, telling me I was already an exceptional witch.” A sad smile flickered across her features, “We pushed all of our camp rolls together to make one big, padded bed and slept like that. It was almost like a camping adventure, just…underground,”

“That sounds…” Raelle started, unsure of the word she wanted. It sounded nice. It sounded sweet. It sounded like parents who loved their daughter very much, and wanted what was best for her. “Lovely,” she settled on.

Scylla smiled a small smile. “It was. That was back when I didn’t really understand why we had to move so much. Back when it was still new and exciting to be new places, to constantly meet new people. I was the most interesting kid in any school they enrolled me in, not that I was allowed to talk about it much. We didn’t have a lot, but my parents tried to make do. They tried to give me a normal childhood, but it wasn’t always like that. They were away a lot, constantly trying to make connections. Not absent, but always busy. Always worried. It wasn’t something I picked up on at first: at least, not consciously. I think at some point, they stopped actively trying to hide it from me, the older I got. I think that’s when my sense of injustice started to really set in, you know?”

She still had that faraway look in her eyes. 

Raelle fidgeted. She didn’t, not really. She doubted she could ever fully fathom the things Scylla had to go through. The sacrifices she’d had to make, without even knowing she was making them. 

“But there were other things. I saw more than one of our family friends get arrested, while we hid away in secret compartments in their homes. I still remember the hiding seeds my parents had to use, to avoid detection as military police swept the whole house. I remember going back to some places, thinking we would see old friends and then learning that they’d moved, or had disappeared. On more than one occasion, they’d been killed. Really, disappearing rarely meant anything else,” she pursed her lips, “On more than one occasion…we saw the aftermath. My parents tried to shelter me from the truth, but it always came out in the end,”

She sighed, “Sometimes, I wonder what I would be like, if my parents hadn’t been killed. Would I have joined the Army anyway? I was already fairly anti-military by the time I was sixteen. It was just in the way I saw my parents always hiding. It was in the way that the military was this omnipotent force that hunted us for sport when there were bigger, more important things it could be doing. It was just knowing that despite all the hiding, my life wasn’t really my own, and I hated them for that, and I hated civilians for never doing anything about it. All I saw, my whole life, was blood being spilled in the name of the military. All I saw was people with the power to stop it, sitting idly by as we went through their sleepy towns, completely unaware of the life they had sentenced myself and my parents to, however indirectly. 

“Would I have continued to be a Dodger? Find a friend in another Dodger, find a lover, get married, continue the matriline? Or would I have ended up with Spree, despite it all? Despite my parents’ dislike of them,”

Scylla ducked her head for a moment, before continuing, breathing in deep.

“My parents never blamed civilians for their lot in life. But I’d always sympathized with Spree’s message, especially as I learned why we never had a moment to really rest. Why we were always on the move. Why my childhood had been robbed of the normalcy that everyone else seemed to have. Who knows? Maybe I would have broken away from my family, struck out on my own, joined Spree just the same,” Scylla shrugged again. “Not that any of that really matters. My parents were murdered, and I followed my pain and anger all the way to that mall. To where we are now,”

Scylla looked between them, her expression wistful, sorrowful. Contemplative. Open. 

She was…beautiful, in all of her sudden and unexpected vulnerability, the afternoon sun catching and highlighting her dark hair, her striking eyes. Before Raelle wasn’t Scylla Ramshorn, the terrorist turned revolutionary. Before her was a young woman, in pain and resigned to it, sifting through it to find the good that remained. And for just a moment, Raelle remembered what it felt like to hold just a fraction of what Scylla held within her, and it made her ache. She wanted to reach out, to pull her close, to shelter her from the pain that Raelle could still feel an echo of in her chest. 

But she forced herself not to. She clenched her jaw and she clasped her fists around the bag on her shoulder and she tried not to take notice of how short the distance was between them. How she could just reach out-

She fidgeted with the fabric as Scylla started walking again. Raelle followed close behind, careful of the bushes around them.

“What about you?” Scylla asked, as they left the thick of it. Raelle came to her side as she continued, “What was your mom like?”

Raelle bit her lip, thinking. Her ma…had been great. A little stern, a little cagey, a Southern belle mixed with a rough mudder. She had country in her veins and fire in her eyes and passion in her heart. She was a mama bear, ready to tear someone apart if they messed with Raelle or with her husband. But she was also sweet tea, slightly bitter around the edges but sugary and kind, cool comfort on a hot and humid summer’s day. Her ma was a lot – a hurricane packaged in a woman’s body. A mix of church-going, god-fearing civilians in their area and the Pagan roots that sang in her blood, and in Raelle’s, too.

“She was special,” Raelle finally settled on. “Like…a thunderstorm you see rolling over the plains, I guess. A force of nature that you could watch in awe, and could feel the breeze off of, without fear of all of the destruction. Someone to marvel at, and to fear, just a little bit. She was…so big and so full of life and I just…her death hit me really hard. She used to go out to the fields with me in the summer to catch fireflies in jars. We’d let them go before I went to bed and she’d tell me how they were stars on Earth, made with the purpose of brightening our nights. She used to always tell me I had big work in me,” Raelle said quietly.

Scylla smiled, an understated, almost fond smile that had Raelle’s ears burning. 

“She was right,” Scylla said, and Raelle shrugged. 

“I guess,” she muttered. Scylla stopped walking, but Raelle kept going despite not knowing the path. “I just felt so…lost, after her death. Still kind of do,”

She felt something grab her hand and immediately flinched, pulling it away and turning to stare at Scylla, who covered quickly (but not quickly enough) a crestfallen look on her face before she sent Raelle a guarded smile that didn’t really reach her eyes.

“Sorry, we’re-the path is this way,” she said, pointing in a completely different direction to the one that Raelle had been going in. 

Raelle felt her cheeks burn but tried to ignore it. Her mouth fell open and her hand also burned where Scylla had touched it, but not in a bad way, and that made her blush even harder. Fuck, she was in deeper than she thought, and she hated knowing that. 

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t allow this, she couldn’t-

“Oh,” she muttered, and she was sure she had never blushed so hard in her damn life, but Scylla just looked at her with a carefully blank expression.

Oh, indeed. 

Scylla didn’t say anything else, just walked around Raelle, sparing her the slightest and slyest of glances, and Raelle tried not to notice.

The rest of their trek was done mostly in silence, which grew more and more uncomfortable (to Raelle, anyway) the longer it lasted, Scylla maintaining a subtle but noticeable distance between them, and Raelle could feel her cheeks burning. She knew that she should try to reach out, or at least…apologize, or something? But honestly…she wasn’t sure what she could say that would make it better. Or what she should say. It wasn’t like she should give Scylla false hope – that wouldn’t be fair to her, to make her think that Raelle would give in to that spark she could feel between them – but the memory of the look on Scylla’s face sent a pang of regret through her. 

The uncomfortable silence lasted until Scylla abruptly bid her goodnight after they returned to the compound with the rest of the group and deposited their gathered food on the shelves in the kitchen. 

Raelle didn’t even say it back, too surprised once again, and only processing it had happened several moments after Scylla had left.

\---

_“It’s where?” Anacostia asked again, squinting at the map she had smuggled into their second interrogation in a week. Such frequent “interrogations” between them was highly unusual, but Scylla wasn’t complaining. Anacostia was honestly the highlight of her time at Cotton Mather, because she could sass back without getting her face shoved into a wall, or without some asshole on a power-trip trying to intimidate her. Also, with Anacostia, Scylla didn’t have to pretend she was incapable of any work. It was always nice to see Anacostia’s eyebrow raise, however subtle, when Scylla performed a piece of seedless work, or showed off what she’d been teaching herself as far as seeds, all alone in her cell. She’d mastered the breaking-the-handcuffs one, the various Seeing work and seeds she’d come up with to see through the concrete walls of her cell. She’d been getting really good at a few other pieces of trickery, including many having to do with pages in books._

_In this case, maps, but the seeds translated splendidly, so she was fairly pleased with her own progress, and seeing Anacostia’s slight and subdued, but undeniable, surprise and even admiration, was just the cherry on top. It stoked her ego, which, she was already aware, was quite large to begin with. But she was smart, and she always had been: it was just nice to have it acknowledged. Izadora also had recognized Scylla’s brilliance, back before she had learned Scylla was Spree and the good will between them had spoiled._

_“There,” she nodded at the map, snapping her fingers to create a small spark, which danced just above the paper, just high enough so as to not catch fire, lighting the small, almost imperceptible “x” she had manipulated onto the map with a bit of sub-register work. It indicated the location of the fire tower._

_“Stop doing that, I don’t have any more maps to bring here,” Anacostia scolded, and Scylla smirked._

_“Yes ma’am,” she broke her cuffs and used her finger to point instead. “It’s there. It’s not easy to find, and easily a week and a half or so hike from any type of civilization or other fire tower. It wasn’t supposed to be created, but the builders were adamant abolitionists and realized that they could put it in there and no one would question it. Worked together with every single person who came through to create the underground bunker. The rule is, if you use the hideout, you do something to expand it or improve it, for any future generations who need to use it. What started as a simple one or two room hiding spot turned into a full-on bunker._

_“It hadn’t been used in a while when my family and I arrived there, but we reinforced a lot of the concrete, as best we could. The third time we used it, I created an underground garden that would be self-sustaining. Mostly mushrooms-” she was good at conjuring those, and there was no shortage of dead things from which to create them, after a few days of hunting trips for jerky for their onward journey, “but also some other plants that don’t need a lot of water or sunlight to thrive. The concrete there was old and got wet when it rained, and that keeps the soil nourished. Took me a while to construct that, but I’d really been into reading about how people were creating vertical gardens in some cities, and I found the concept fascinating-” Scylla snapped her mouth shut, realizing she was rambling, and Anacostia was giving her a look halfway between amusement and annoyance._

_“It won’t be easy to bring a bunch of people there, but I think, if you can get them the coordinates,” Scylla snapped her fingers and started rubbing them together until charcoal manifested between them. Nothing crazy: just a thin layer on her finger, enough for her to write the coordinates out. That had been a trick she’d learned in the Cession, “then they can make their way there. Dodgers especially will know the area. I’m not sure how you’ll get active military members there,” she eyed Anacostia, raising her eyebrow, “But I’ll leave you to figure that out.”_

_“Definitely give them some seeds before they go. A good one is a blocking seed, or have them create a blocking charm that they can carry with them to the compound, to stop anyone from trying to contact them once they’re nearby. That would definitely blow our cover, and the location. And that location is a well-kept secret, so please,” she looked Anacostia dead in the eye to make sure to drive home the point “make sure they’re careful getting there. If this place gets exposed…we may be a little bit screwed.” An understatement, honestly._

_Anacostia nodded solemnly in understanding, pursing her lips._

_“And, I mean,” Scylla pulled at her collar, “You’d have to find a way to get this off, but I could try and show you some tips and tricks? I learned a lot, between Military, Spree, and dodging. I know you’re not a fan of Spree tactics, but a lot of them are useful. If you get me a lighter, next time you’re in, I could show you how to change your appearance. Incredibly useful skill,”_

_Anacostia’s glare was answer enough, but it made Scylla laugh. She threw up her hands in mock-surrender, “It’s just an offer, to make your life a little easier, but if you want to do it the hard way, fine. Just don’t fuck up,”_

_Anacostia narrowed her eyes, “I could say the same to you,”_

_“I’m already in prison, Anacostia, I’m not sure how I could fuck up much more than that,” she laughed._

_Anacostia rolled her eyes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Raelle, thinking she's stronger than what she's feeling...nice try bb. She is pretty strong though, alas. 
> 
> Also Scylla's pretty good with her fingers, huh?? Chispas, breaking her cuffs, creating charcoal... 😏😏 
> 
> Anyway, that's all I'll say about that! Drop a line if you enjoyed or if you're dead but somehow survived, comments from beyond the grave are always fun! As always, thanks for reading and hope you liked it!


	14. Bomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Turns out that trip DID affect the upload schedule, whoops...I did figure out how to have a draft ready to just point and post, but let me tell you...busy weekend, tired author, so despite having the chapter ready, I ended up with no time to post it, so here we are! Not that any of you asked but you've been good to me as an audience, so I'll make it a double feature, which means the next chapter should be up in a few hours. I keep using October as an excuse but like...happy October! 😂😂
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoy the chapter, late as it may be!

“I think they’re building a bomb,”

Raelle looked up from the book she’d been reading in a futile attempt to distract herself from the memory of what had happened not a full day before, on the foraging trip. It wasn’t really working - she’d read the same sentence several times - but that wasn’t going to stop her. 

She squinted as Abigail leaned against the door to their room after she shut it. 

Tally, who was also reading a book, shut hers entirely. 

“What?”

“The schematics,” Abigail said, coming into the room. She pulled out a little field notebook that Raelle had noticed she’d taken to carrying with her around the compound after she’d found it at the bottom of their rucksack. 

Abigail sat down, cross-legged on the floor, and both Tally and Raelle put aside their books to scoot closer to her as she opened the notebook. 

“Raelle, you remember how you said you found canisters of gun powder and those metal pellet things?”

Raelle nodded, tucking one leg underneath her and pulling the knee of her other leg to her chest. She rested her chin on that knee. “Yeah?”

“They’re definitely using it for something. I don’t think they’ve finished the bomb. At least…not the big one. Or maybe they’re making multiple, I can’t tell. But they’re definitely using the powder. I keep seeing people with it. And the little shells and things I see people with at their work stations, and just all the tools they’re using. They’re making a bomb. And not like…an air bomb, like Spree. An actual bomb,” she laid the book out on the floor, pressing it down at the crease to make sure her unit could see the drawings and notes she had in it. “I can’t think of anything else they’d need that much gunpowder for, let alone whatever those little pellets are, or whatever else kind of explosive might be in those other supply closets. Or what’s even in the locked ones,”

Tally furrowed her brow, concerned. “Something like that would kill a lot of people,”

Abigail nodded, looking just as concerned as Tally. “There’s literally no other reason for a bomb made like that. Remember when the civilian military tried to make one, and Alder shut it down because of the sheer amount of casualties? She thought it was unnecessary. If even Alder thought they were barbaric…”

“Then imagine what they’re planning to do with it…” Raelle filled in the blank, feeling her heart sink and dread seep in. God, had they really all been so blinded…? Even Anacostia? 

Something didn’t…didn’t sit right. 

“So what do we do now?” Tally asked, after a moment of the unit looking uneasily at each other. “I mean, it’s likely that Anacostia already knows, right?”

“She probably had to okay it,” Raelle agreed quietly.

“So either she’s gone off the rails, or she doesn’t know,” Abigail looked at them seriously. “What do we think this means?”

Tally shrugged and Raelle shook her head, shutting her eyes tight. It meant she was going to have a headache. She…had they really been duped by Scylla? Had Scylla really so completely and utterly and thoroughly manipulated Anacostia? 

But that…that didn’t seem logical. Convoluted, sure, and Raelle wouldn’t put it past Scylla to come up with a convoluted plan, but even for Scylla, it seemed a little extreme. Too many moving parts, too much risk. As someone who had grown up in high-stakes environments, Scylla maybe could handle it, but she didn’t strike Raelle as the type to take risks that she deemed unnecessary. So it didn’t make sense that she would come up with some kind of massive, civilian-grade bomb, and then have the schematics and blueprints just…out in the open for anyone to see. Let alone anyone being ready or willing to agree to make such a weapon…they’d heard of multiple reports of civilians trying to create their own bombs at home and blowing their hands clean off. 

Witches wouldn’t take that risk, it simply wasn’t worth it when they could just use their own voices to rain destruction on their enemies. 

“I don’t know,” Raelle said quietly. 

Abigail sent her a sympathetic look. “What do we want to do?”

“Honestly?” Tally said, scooching closer to get a better look at Abigail’s notes. She sighed heavily, but continued, “Honestly…I think we trust them,”

That got an eyebrow raise from Raelle, and Abigail’s mouth dropped open in shock. 

Tally nodded with conviction. “I’m serious. There has to be more to this than it looks like. I can’t see Anacostia agreeing to making a fire-power bomb like that. And I know this is going to sound weird, but…I can’t see Scylla going for that, either,” she looked to Raelle, then. “You once told us that she wasn’t stupid. That she doesn’t take risks unless she has a reason for it, like with your interrogation. This would be a stupid thing to do. If she’s not stupid…which, let’s be honest, she’s not, then…I’m willing to hear them out. I _want_ to hear them out,” Tally said seriously. 

“Tal-” Raelle went to interrupt, but to her surprise, it was Abigail who shushed her as Tally continued,

“I don’t know about you guys, but…I know we don’t want to work with a terrorist, but at the end of the day…I’ve never seen anything like this. Here, in this compound…just from our time in the Rec room alone, we have…we’ve met military people and Dodgers and we’ve met ex-Spree agents. They’re all here. They’re all here, and they must have a reason, right? Otherwise, why would they be here? Why would they follow a small resistance movement led by people from opposite sides, if they weren’t sick of how things are now? Like I am?” she looked between them all, “Like we are?”

Abigail looked at Tally, brow deeply furrowed, considering. 

“And a lot of these people, they’re working on this weapon, aren’t they? And if they’re working on it, then…then they know what it is. If all of them can see it…know what it is and still be willing to build it, then perhaps it’s not what we think it is? A weapon, yes. Maybe even a bomb. But…maybe not a bad one?”

It sounded absurd: how could there be something called a “bomb” that…wasn’t bad? 

Still, though…Tally had a point. 

“I don’t know if a not-bad bomb can exist, Tal,” Abigail said, her tone all too grave. 

Tally sighed, running a hand through her hair, “Maybe…it didn’t before. Maybe it’s a new thing. Maybe this is what Anacostia meant by Scylla putting her life on the line for the cause: experimental work. We can’t know without agreeing to be their…special unit, or whatever Anacostia had called it,”

“Do you think we should?” Raelle asked. 

They’d had the discussion before. Too many times, honestly. Going in circles, unable to make a decision…

Tally bit her lip, but after a moment, nodded. “I…I do. I don’t know, guys. I think that…what’s happening here, it’s something special. Something different. It’s kind of…isn’t it kind of what we’ve been looking for, since we graduated War College? A way to wrangle the military out of Alder’s control? A way to stop the violence and imbalance the military has caused? To stop the carnage? It’s the best option we could have hoped for, and I think…we should take it. If it all goes to shit…at least we’ll have tried.” Tally set her jaw, nearly in defiance, and it struck Raelle then what Scylla had said about her.

They were alike. Remarkably. Tally had weighed her options and had come to a conclusion that she was convinced was right, and she was ready to die on that hill, come hell or high water. There was something to be…respected, in that conviction, and Raelle felt that swell of pride rise within her again. Goddamn it, Tally had come a long way.

She felt herself smiling, and the corners of Tally’s mouth ticked up, too. 

“Damn, Tal,” she shook her head, “I love you, you know?”

Tally beamed, and Abigail shook her head. 

“Shut up shitbird, you’ll make us all get mushy,”

“What do you guys think?” Tally asked, and they fell into a silence, Tally looking between them as Raelle ruminated, genuinely, on what she thought. How did she feel about this?

And honestly? It was their best option, to try to change anything. Tally was right about that. They could go back to their lives in the military, of course. They could return to Fort Salem and take up officer positions or climb the ranks, maybe become strategists or go abroad with the Infantry. They could die in the battlefield or live to watch their kind die on the battlefield. They could live and die in the military, lying to their cadets about their jobs and their importance, trying to convince them that their lack of free will in the military was a good thing. 

Raelle could go back and accept the privileges that came with Alder thinking she had been reformed during her time at Cotton Mather: a good little soldier. She could turn her back on Scylla, on all that their connection entailed, heavy and burdensome and leaden with implications and invitations. She could create a life with some military brat or some other witch who she would hardly see when they were sent on assignment. 

Or they could have a real chance to change things…

With no guarantee of survival, on either side.

“I don’t know,” Abigail sighed, answering before Raelle could. “I want…I want to believe, like you, Tally. I want to believe that this is all…it’s all some big, real thing. But…I just can’t. Call me a skeptic but something about working with a terrorist makes my skin crawl. The shit she did? She could be capable of anything, so…I guess I just need more time to get my head around it. Because like…I trust you guys. I love you guys. I would follow you anywhere. So even though maybe I don’t think this is like…the best idea ever,” Abigail shook her head to herself as she muttered, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…let me think about it a little more, before we go blabbing at Anacostia,” she said quietly. 

“Yeah, Abs, no worries,” Raelle said, off-handed. After all…she hadn’t exactly weighed in. She hadn’t exactly said yes, yet. 

Was…was she that obvious? 

“Of course,” Tally said at near the same time, and she launched forward without warning, wrapping one arm around Abigail and pulling her in for a hug, using her other arm to frantically motion for Raelle to join, which she did, embracing the warmth and love from her unit and feeling just a little bit better. These women had saved her life, and loved her in her darkest moments. If anyone could make it through this…it was them.

**\---**

_They ended up having one more meeting before Anacostia had to get back to Fort Salem, but the last visit left Scylla feeling over-all pretty good about their progress. She used the good mood to flirt shamelessly with a new guard, who, to her credit, remained stony-faced throughout their entire brief encounter, but the tips of her ears turned bright red. Later, Scylla listened in on a conversation between the same guard and her superior, the superior welcoming her to Red and telling her to not let it bother her: Sixteen-hundred did that to everyone, her bite was worse than her bark but if she wasn’t given a reason to bite, she wouldn’t. Etc._

_Scylla had to say, she was proud of the reputation she’d cultivated. Feared, respected, with a slight mix of disgust and begrudging acceptance that she was just “like that”, but, as long as she was being “like that”, she wasn’t being violent. But be sure to walk on eggshells, because she very quickly could be._

_Despite her breakdown, she was actually fairly pleased that the nickname Graves had given her had stuck. It kept everyone on edge but it also put them at ease: a nickname did that: gave a sense of familiarity. Without even realizing it, Graves had made Scylla’s job a lot easier, and it usually only took a day or two of guard rotation in Red for even new people to start calling her Sixteen-hundred. Scylla had yet to successfully get anyone to call her by her real name, but she had long stopped trying. She had better things to do with her time._

_Still, the amusement only lasted so long. The lack of true schedule in Red was…frustrating, and she could easily see how it could have driven her insane, if she didn’t have the ability to ascertain some semblance of keeping track of time. But it was annoying, to know that if she started working on anything, at any moment, someone could interrupt, and she couldn’t do much to prevent that except to be incredibly careful about what she was doing, so she sat on her bed, book open in her lap, losing herself to her thoughts._

_Anacostia had also seemed to leave in high spirits, which was an odd but flattering look on her. Scylla honestly had to admire Anacostia, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps because she was a good worker. A good soldier, she followed orders, even if, out of Scylla’s mouth, they were said more like suggestions. They were a team, and it was really starting to show. Anacostia had a vision, now, same as Scylla, and it was…nice, to feel like she had someone she could lean on. Someone she could trust._

_She was honestly pleased that Anacostia listened to her suggestions about dissenters. She had no doubt there were many in the military: she had talked to several during her time at Fort Salem. Even Izadora, to an extent, was critical of the military, though only behind closed doors as they dissected mushrooms together. Scylla was top of her class and a gifted student, so she was one of the few close enough to Izadora to be privy to such information. The problem was that Izadora, despite that, was annoyingly loyal to the military, but Scylla understood. For Necro research purposes, there was no better institution._

_That was the frustrating thing: finding the dissenters standing on the precipice, ready to fall off the edge – ready to abandon that which they knew but loathed – for a great unknown. Any soldier worth their salt kept such disdain well-hidden, and weeding them out was not easy. She appreciated Anacostia’s efforts, because as good at reading people as Anacostia was, she wasn’t on Scylla’s level. She hadn’t been raised in an environment that necessitated such skills._

_Scylla flipped the page, not taking in any of the words. It was_ Fiddler on the Roof _, anyway: she’d read it well over four times at Cotton Mather alone. She practically had it memorized._

_She also was in high spirits from hearing they already had enough numbers so as to warrant a safe house. She wasn’t sure, still, what they would do with the numbers…and she wasn’t sure if they’d be enough. But the pool was quite limited. Even Spree, while a large organization, was a fraction of the size of the military, and the military itself was a fraction of the size of the over-all population of the country._

_Scylla frowned. She didn’t know Spree’s actual numbers, but they were small enough that Scylla had been given a rather large (at the time, the largest) attack despite being relatively new to the “action” side of the organization: an honor at the time, and now a memory that churned her stomach with something that suspiciously felt like guilt. She knew that she had made an impression from the get-go, because of her sheer passion for the cause. Her pain and her grief and her anger made it easy for Spree to direct such chaotic energy where they needed it, and she was all too happy to oblige, but…_

_But she knew that there weren’t a lot of Spree members. Maybe at most a thousand, but she wouldn’t think they numbered in the couple thousands and certainly not the tens of thousands. It just wasn’t feasible. She wouldn’t be surprised if ever she learned that their national numbers were less than the amount of people she killed in the mall._

_Scylla paused mid-page flip._

_The people she killed in the mall._

_Sixteen-hundred people._

_Were any of them…dissenters?_

_She shook her head to herself. It almost seemed…impossible, to think. To ask._

_“Look for the dissenters” had been her instructions from Spree once she’d integrated herself with the military at Fort Salem. A way to try to recruit new Spree members. “Look for the dissenters” had become her mantra, always with her eyes open, observing, watching. It was a Spree staple and she had never even considered it in the case of civilians._

_Were there dissenters, among civilians? She knew that many feared witches, to the point of hatred. She firmly did believe that the Burning Times were not behind them, and were it not for the Salem Accord, civilians would happily show their true colors, but because witches were being subservient and “useful”, they were allowed to live, rather than persecuted by Camarilla and their like-minded ilk of the twenty-first century. And she knew that there were others that actually were very favorable of witches…but for the same reasons. Subservience. Because witches were fighting their wars for them, and at least they had the courtesy to thank them for their unwilling sacrifice._

_The thought had always caused a visceral reaction of hatred to well within her, and even now, she felt it, bearing her teeth at the page before her, as though it were the book’s fault._

_It was…odd, honestly, to live with such a strange and strong paradox within her. She felt…sympathy. Pain. For her actions against civilians. But she couldn’t fully bring herself to truly regret them. If given half a chance, she had no doubt that many civilians would do something similar to witches: that many civilians already were, however indirectly._

_But many…was not all. Was not even, necessarily, most. How many of those sixteen-hundred people were dissenters? Were there any?_

_…given their sheer numbers…there had to be, right? Considering the overwhelming amount of opinions among witches, she could only imagine civilians, with such a vast population…it stood to reason that civilians would be varied, too. Possibly even more so than witches. Were…were there civilians who were…_ for _witch liberation?_

_She’d never even…the thought had never crossed her mind, not really. Why would it? Sure, she’d heard of a few fringe cases, where civilians were known to help Dodgers, though she’d never met them. She’d heard rumors of more peace-oriented Spree cells engaging with local civilians, but she’d never considered that relationship to be anything more than parasitic: Spree doing what they needed to in order to try to create change at a local governmental level, possibly even taking a civilian’s form to infiltrate mayoral offices, or something to that effect._

_But she’d never really considered that civilians might actually work_ with _witches for their own liberation…after all, what did civilians have to gain by that?_

_Nothing. They had nothing to gain, except knowing that someone wasn’t being sent off to war in their stead. It almost seemed…unfathomable. Impossible. Why would they do that? Surely…they couldn’t possibly understand…could they? It sounded…absurd: a dream a child would have, about a just world filled with unicorns and rainbows. Void of harsh truths. Like some kind of pipe dream. It felt…too good to be true, a fantasy that people deluded themselves with to try to feel more comfortable with their lot in life._

_But now…it made sense. It felt odd, and wrong: after all, she’d never seen it. Yet it physically made her uneasy to ponder just how many of the ones she’d murdered…wouldn’t have hated her for it. May even have understood._

_Would they understand? Could they?_

_She stopped flipping pages, letting the implications slowly but surely sink in, washing over her like waves of the ocean: relentless but gentle._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you guys, but the unit has come so far in the last few days they've been at the compound. Like, they've seen enough to actually not be reactionary and to think and realize that maybe...there's something more to what Anacostia and Scylla are creating. And they're right! We love to see the unit unity! 
> 
> Also like Scylla bb...she still has a bit of growing to do. But I'd dare say she's on the right path, and she's starting to realize important things...
> 
> Anyway, that's it for today, hope you enjoyed! :) See you soon for the next one!


	15. Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STOP! WAIT! Hello dear reader! This update was a double-feature, this is the second chapter published today: if you came directly to this chapter after opening the fic, you gotta go back, fam! Or like...you don't have to and I can't force you but like this is the second chapter of two posted today, so, ya know...maybe read Chapter 14 first... 
> 
> ...
> 
> Okay, you back? You do the thing? Good, continue!

“You’ve got something on your mind,”

Raelle looked up from her plate, surprised. She hadn’t expected anyone to find her: she’d made herself dinner and had then scurried off to the training room that she and Abigail had been using, not really in the mood to speak to people or to run into a certain someone. 

She really was only in the mood to be alone with her thoughts, unable to really, truly do so when sharing a small space with her unit. 

Their conversation the previous afternoon was still fresh in her mind. How convinced Tally was. How neither Abigail nor Tally seemed to think that Raelle would ever think of saying no, despite having not even given an answer. How the thought actually annoyed her, making her wonder if she truly was so…transparent, about both her disdain for the military and her…connection…

Even the thought of Scylla had her cheeks burning.

It…the foraging trip still haunted her, in many ways. That look of hurt, however brief, on Scylla’s face…the awkward silence that came after, the quiet after so much had been revealed between them. It’d felt…wrong and weird and she didn’t like to think of how much Scylla’s hurt, however well hidden, hurt her too. She didn’t want to think about her own desperation to apologize, which had grown with each passing day, a knot in her stomach. She just…she just had to explain that she was surprised, that was all.

It wasn’t all, of course. There was so much there that she didn’t know how to face, really. 

She wasn’t an idiot. She could feel that connection between them, as much as she didn’t necessarily want to, because she didn’t want think about what it meant for her, that she may have feelings…actual, honest-to-goddess feelings, for someone like Scylla. What did it say about her, that she could look past something like mass murder? What did it say about her that it made her heart ache: the thought both of all of those innocent lives lost, but also of how lost Scylla must have been, in that moment? How lucid but entirely without a moral compass, corrupted beyond all reason… 

And the worst part was that…Raelle couldn’t deny it. She’d been fully prepared to lose that connection to the passage of time, leaving Scylla behind on Corey Isle for the rest of their living days. The connection hadn’t mattered then, because even if she’d wanted to, she would have never have been able to act on it. She would have never have been able to give into her temptations: to carnal desires, to morbid curiosity. To raw attraction. 

And now?

Now, she could. The only thing standing between her and falling into a precipice of what would likely be an intense…something…was herself. That was it. She was the only thing keeping her from giving in. Keeping her from taking what Scylla was so clearly offering her, and had been offering her since the beginning, when she first started flirting with Raelle. 

She didn’t want that. She didn’t want flirting, she didn’t want Scylla to be into her, she didn’t want and hadn’t asked for the connection between them, but, cradling her left palm in her right hand, plate in her lap where she’d chosen to sit on the floor, she knew there was no going back. She knew that…that telling herself that she didn’t want it…didn’t make it true. Didn’t stop the way her body reacted to the very thought of Scylla, cheeks heating, pulse hammering. Breathing a little harder.

There was no way to reverse the connection, just resist its pull…but on the other end of the pull was Scylla. Dark, brooding, mysterious, full of life and mischief and darkness. Magnetic. 

And maybe…if Raelle was honest…she was tired of fighting it.

She shook her head to herself, and that was when Abigail had burst into their training room, announcing her presence with that little observation. 

Abigail sat across from her unceremoniously, her own plate clasped in one hand, a glass full of water in the other. She raised an eyebrow, “Saw you leave the kitchen like a bat out of hell. You weren’t even doing your usual scan of the kitchen. Just” she moved her hand with the plate in a horizontal motion, careful not to move the food, “whoosh,” she fixed Raelle with a curious stare, putting her plate and glass down. 

Raelle sighed, “I’m fine, Abigail,”

“You’re a shit liar, shitbird,” Abigail shot back.

Raelle shook her head. “Well, I will be fine, then,”

“No, nuh-uh, doesn’t work like that, sorry,” Abigail said, taking a bite of the sandwich on her plate. “Spill,”

Rolling her eyes, Raelle picked up a pea from her own plate and flicked it at Abigail. 

“Hey!” she grumbled through her mouthful. 

Raelle chuckled but then fell quiet again, thinking. Abigail watched her, and she could feel her eyes, waiting patiently, because she knew that Raelle would crack. 

And she did. “I just…” she paused, running a hand through her hair, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Mm, none of us do,” Abigail reminded her, taking a bite of her sandwich.

Raelle let out a frustrated noise, “No, not…not about all this. Just…about…” she clenched her jaw. “Things, I guess.”

Helpful. Super-vague, but…

But she wasn’t really in the mood to talk. Least of all, with Abigail. The woman who most disliked and distrusted Scylla. Confessing to her that she maybe had very strong feelings for a mass-murdering ex-terrorist wasn’t exactly high on Raelle’s list of “Fun things to share with Abigail.” 

“‘Things’” Abigail quoted, her voice just a notch below mocking, and it made Raelle scowl at her plate. Add that to the reasons she didn’t feel like talking to Abigail –

“Things with blue eyes and dark hair and lots of trouble packed into a tiny body?”

Raelle snapped her gaze up from her plate, startled. 

Abigail smiled at her sympathetically. “I may be a bit stubborn, Rae, but I’m not fucking blind. Nor stupid, for that matter,” she stared pointedly.

Raelle stared, before groaning to herself. Fuck, so she really was that obvious…

“I-” Raelle paused, truly at a loss for words. 

“It’s fucked up, you know?” Abigail said, sighing heavily. “I know that Tally, for some reason, has also fallen into this idea that we should trust her. And I know that you do, too,” she shook her head, “I just…I just can’t. I don’t like that she forced this…what would you call it? Like…a bond, or something,” she nodded at Raelle’s palm. “I hate that she marked you like that. I know you said it was to communicate with you, but I hate that she forced her way into your world,”

Raelle opened her mouth, ready to object but…well, it was true. Scylla had forced her way in…

Abigail held up a hand, “Please, Rae. Let me finish.”

Raelle clamped her mouth shut and nodded for Abigail to continue. 

She mulled over her next words, fidgeting with her sandwich before continuing, “I hate that she seems to have Anacostia’s trust, and that she has yours, and that she has Tally’s, all despite everything she’s done. I hate that I have to see you so conflicted over her. I’ve literally never seen you so absolutely powerless as you are when you’re with her. She throws you off, in more ways than one. I hate seeing you like that, because you’re one of the most reckless, stupidly brave people I know - like you literally almost sacrificed yourself for some nobody at Beltane, and you backed Tally when she tried to report Alder to my mom, and that's just the beginning of the list - and that...that terrorist doesn’t deserve even a fraction of what you’ve given to her already. She doesn’t deserve your trust, your loyalty-”

Raelle couldn’t help but open her mouth again, because honestly…a part of her begged to differ. The part that knew Scylla. The part that was feeling…dangerous things, for her. But also, in all fairness to herself, she hadn’t pledged any loyalty to Scylla and she certainly wasn’t planning on it-

“But,” Abigail shot her a pointed look, to stop her from interrupting, “But. I also know there’s nothing I can do about it, now. She does have Anacostia’s trust, and she has Tally’s convictions, and she has you. And I know that you believe in all of the things she told you in Cotton Mather, but I know you. I know you find things like mass murder inexcusable. But despite that…I know that you probably agree with her on half of her views and probably even more, because I know that, to an extent…we all do,” Abigail confessed it quietly, uncharacteristically looking down at her food, picking at it.

“Do you remember, when we found out about Blackroot? How devastated Adil was, and how close to death Khalida was? When he was at Fort Salem that first time…it was the first time I was able to see the military through someone else’s eyes. And it was…scary. This big machine with storms and natural disasters on its side. Destruction, not salvation. For once, I was able to see it not as the one executing the work…but the one on the receiving end of it. And it was…goddess, it was horrible. My entire family had built a legacy on that, you know? On being the strongest blasters around: capable of exploding stone with gale-force winds and using that power to crush our enemies. 

“And then all of a sudden, there was Adil…there was this witch who didn’t see the brilliance in that, only the potential loss of life. The consequences to the actions. And there was Khalida: bearing those consequences. An innocent life suffering for the actions we’d committed,"

Abigail scrunched her features, brow furrowed deeply as she searched for the words. “And I think…I think Scylla’s your Adil. I think these are things we already knew but never really considered, and it just took us time to see it. I mean…I know you already were pretty anti-military, but she just helped you see even more, why you were right. I almost think…you needed the reminder. You’d gotten so quiet about it, near the end of War College. Resigned, you know? I remember how you were at the end of Basic...like, you were so upset with the military, and we all sort of...followed you. But as time went on and you didn't seem to see any means of escape - none of us really did - it wore you down. Like you thought maybe this really was all there was left for you, and you’d sort of just…stopped trying,” she furrowed her brow at her sandwich before continuing.

“And I think that, now…now, you’re slowly reigniting. You definitely came back from Cotton Mather…different. I don’t think I could have guessed this, honestly,” she waved her hand, “but it was obvious that something was weighing on you. Something had put that weird look of defiance back in your eyes, even if it was muted.”

Abigail tilted her head, looking at Raelle, appraising, “And I know that like, for me anyway, if someone tried to tell me, now, that Adil is wrong, I wouldn’t believe them. Not anymore. So I guess, what I’m saying is…”

She sighed, “I guess what I’m saying is, I get it. Even if I don’t like it. I understand why you trust her. Why you believe her. And I guess…in the end. If you decide that this is what you want to do: follow her. Accept her proposal. Then…I’ll follow you in. I mean. I’d follow you into war. I’d follow you into the pits of hell, because I love you, shitbird. Despite your general unpleasantness…despite whatever witchcraft she used to get you here…you’re here now, and you believe her. And I believe in you, so. Whatever you decide. Just know that I stand with you,”

Raelle stared, absolutely floored at the raw honesty and quiet confessions in Abigail’s words. 

“But like, no guarantees I won’t complain the whole time. I know Tally’s already made her decision, and I know you’re on the fence, but just like…don’t shut me out, you know? Talk to me. Talk to us. That’s what a unit is for.”

Raelle shook her head, letting out a shaky laugh, “Since when did you get so wise, Bellweather?”

Abigail rolled her eyes, “Since you abandoned us for six months to go fall into the charms of some terrorist,” she muttered. 

Raelle huffed, “That wasn’t my choice,”

“She really got to you, huh?”

Raelle lowered her gaze, nodding quietly almost in…defeat. “She did.”

“Am I the only one immune to terrorist charm?”

It was a joke, said in such a tone that obviously the express goal of the words was to break the tension that had been building since Abigail had entered the room.

Despite herself, Raelle laughed, trying not to think of the burning in her eyes that signaled possible tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of Abigail. 

“Trust me, Abs,” she said after a moment, blinking rapidly and finally looking at her unit-mate. “I wish I was, too.”

Abigail sent her a sympathetic smile, “Too late for you,”

“I’m trying to fight it,” Raelle felt small as she said that. Like it was a confession too far. 

To her surprise, Abigail’s smile softened even more, if it was possible. 

“Doesn’t really work that way, shitbird.”

**\---**

_“What if-” Scylla hesitated._

_Anacostia was sat across from her. They’d sat mostly in silence for their visit, because they had largely circled around the same subjects, over and over again, and had given up on beating that dead horse for the moment. Other than that, Anacostia had reported that they’d managed to get a few Dodgers, thanks to Scylla’s tips, which was good. People were making their way to the bunker, and Anacostia had appointed a few trusted confidants among them as temporary leaders while both Scylla and Anacostia were away._

_Anacostia raised an eyebrow, waiting for Scylla to continue, and Scylla could feel her heart start to race, and her palms start to sweat. It was…stupid, to be nervous to bring it up, but well…her track record wasn’t exactly on her side for such a bold suggestion. But she’d been thinking on it ever since the thought had first occurred to her, and she couldn’t hold onto it anymore._

_“What if…” she shook her head, deciding to tackle what she wanted to say from another direction, “We have numbers, now, but not a lot, right?”_

_Anacostia raised the same eyebrow further._

_“It’s more than I’d thought we’d have,” she said honestly._

_Scylla let out a frustrated noise, “But it’s less than you’d like to have,”_

_Anacostia leaned back in her seat, “That depends entirely on what our plan ends up being,” she finally said, after a moment ruminating on Scylla’s question._

_Scylla nodded, “Do you think…do you think there are civilian dissenters?”_

_Anacostia furrowed her brow, “How do you mean?”_

_“Like…civilians who don’t agree with witch conscription? Civilians who actually don’t want us to fight for them…people who want us to be free? Do you think there are civilians who are for witch liberation?”_

_Anacostia looked at her weirdly, as though she had sprouted an extra head, and Scylla hated how…odd, it made her feel. For the first time, she felt like she was being truly scrutinized by Anacostia, and it wasn’t the best feeling in the world._

_Anacostia continued to look at her, as though expecting Scylla to announce that she was just kidding, or to move on and pretend she hadn’t said anything, but Scylla set her jaw, because she wasn’t going to do any of that. She was serious. She suspected she already knew the answer, but she needed to hear it. Needed to hear that she had miscalculated. That that miscalculation could be rectified, however retroactively._

_She needed to hear that she had been wrong, that she had committed a monstrous act, and she had done so willingly, heart clouded with hatred and rage, and the thought absolutely terrified her, but it needed to be heard. It needed to be said: she had killed possibly hundreds of potential allies. Her actions had consequences, large ones, beyond the scope of her life and her goals and her death. Beyond the scope of Spree and beyond even the scope of the military._

_Anacostia, finally seeming to have it dawn on her that Scylla was serious, let out a sigh._

_“I suppose, there would have to be, wouldn’t there? If you squint,” she brought Scylla’s words back on her, and Scylla let out a shaky laugh. She always appreciated a subtle call-out. “I don’t know, in all honesty. But I would imagine at least some civilians see it as wrong. It wouldn’t surprise me, at any rate. I can…” she hesitated, looking at Scylla curiously, almost disbelieving, “I can put some feelers out…”_

_Scylla took her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down on it as she thought. Anacostia had confirmed what she had already quietly accepted to be true. She’d known, in theory, that civilians could be for witch liberation, but in practice, she’d never seen it. But…she hadn’t been looking, either. It was easier to think of it as an implausibility, because then it didn’t necessarily mean anything. But it was time to face the music…she’d been wrong, and she couldn’t make amends without facing that reality head-on. She had to give them a chance, because what else could she do?_

_“Could you, please?”_

_Both eyebrows shot up immediately, the disbelief becoming plain on Anacostia’s face as she barked out a laugh. “I…are you serious?”_

_Scylla nodded. “Of course I am, since when do I say please?” she tried to joke, but Anacostia was no longer in a joking mood, leaning forward._

_“I swear to goddess, Ramshorn…why? So you can kill them?”_

_Scylla winced, because okay, she’d kind of deserved that. “No,” she said again, quieter. “Because I owe them,”_

_Anacostia stared, and Scylla sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I owe them that much. I took a pound of flesh that wasn’t mine to take, as entitled as I felt to it. But if there really are dissenters…if there are hidden allies among my once-perceived enemy…I owe them that much, to have faith in them,” Scylla dropped her gaze as she said those words, practically whispering._

_It felt…weird, to say that out loud. She didn’t owe them shit, not really, but…she did. She had acted recklessly and blindly, hidden behind her own wall of pain, a true believer in her cause. She hadn’t seen the nuance: had lost the trees to the forest. And in war, that was common, and even allowed, but perhaps she had been…rash._

_She shook her head and pressed on, despite the lump that had started to form in her throat. “And I wouldn’t jeopardize our mission like that. Gathering a bunch of sympathetic civilians only to kill them would be…stupid,” she said bluntly, “And we need more numbers, don’t we? We have some but we don’t have the sheer amount of people that even Spree probably have, and civilians…there are so many of them. An untapped resource, and we may need that. At any rate…it can’t hurt, right?”_

_Anacostia just continued to stare, conflicting feelings flitting across her features. Mostly, she looked like she didn’t believe what Scylla was telling her, so Scylla sighed. “Look, Anacostia. I know you don’t have a lot of reason to trust me on this, but…it may be just what we need. There is no perspective more outside of our own than civilians. Maybe they’ll have an angle we haven’t considered. Maybe they’ll see something we won’t. Maybe” she shook her head. She didn’t know. “Maybe they’ll be useless and this’ll all be fruitless, but at least we’ll have tried. Just…please.”_

_“…I’ll see what I can do,”_

_“Thank you,” Scylla said quietly, sincerely. “And um, maybe leave out the whole ‘our leader is a mass-murderer of your people’ part-”_

_“That goes without saying, Ramshorn,”_

\---

“Hey!” someone called, stopping Raelle in her tracks as she and her unit headed to the kitchen the next day around lunch. They turned in unison to look at the woman, who smiled sheepishly at them, holding up the box that looked pretty heavy in her hands. “Sorry, I totally forgot to take someone with me, this is one of the locked doors, could one of you help me out?”

Raelle furrowed her brow and Abigail and Tally exchanged confused looks, but Tally, who was closest, nodded.

“Uh, I can try? Do you have the key with you?” she asked, coming forward.

“Oh, this one can be opened with just the general unlocking seed, I think,” she smiled gratefully. 

Tally froze. “Oh, um…if you need a seed, then…” she hesitated, bringing her hand up to her throat, the collar still there. 

The woman noticed it, her smile falling. “Oh, right. Damn. I thought my partner was with me but I guess she didn’t hear me saying I was dropping these off in Supplies,”

“Surprised she didn’t offer to help you with the heavy lifting,” Tally said, tilting her head curiously.

The woman sighed, dropping the box on the floor in front of the still-locked door. “It’s a deal we have. I heavy lift, she unlocks the doors,”

“Seems like a raw deal,” Abigail observed. 

The woman righted herself and shrugged, “Well it’s either that or we have to switch off when we arrive, seems easier to just have us ready for our designated jobs ahead of time,”

“Have they not taught you the seeds?” Tally asked, concerned. 

The woman tilted her head, “Oh, um, no? They really can’t? I wouldn’t be able to use them,”

Raelle blinked, surprised. “Why not?” The woman didn’t have a collar on, and otherwise seemed in perfectly good health. Definitely capable of some work…

“Hard to do when you’re not a witch,” the woman answered, furrowing her brow, “You guys are new, huh?” she added, eyeing them. 

Raelle stared, surprised. Judging by the looks on Tally’s and Abigail’s faces, she wasn’t the only one. 

“Sorry, um,” Abigail spoke up first, “You’re a civilian?”

The woman nodded, “You guys…didn’t know there were civilians here?”

The unit exchanged a worried glance. 

“No, uh, they didn’t exactly tell us that little detail…” Abigail said. 

The woman looked incredulous, “Really?” to which they all nodded. “Huh…”

“I mean, it’s great,” Abigail was quick to interject, “We need all the help we can get, we just-”

“We didn’t know there were civilians who were sympathetic to witch liberation,” Tally said honestly. 

“Oh yeah, there are tons of us,” the woman nodded, “It’s absolute bullshit, the conscription and everything. Like…I don’t know what I would do in your shoes, but I know I’d hate it. It’s not fair that you have to go through it, so when I found out about this movement, I wanted to help.”

“How did you find out about it?” Abigail asked, sounding a bit skeptical. She exchanged a glance with Raelle, their discussion still fresh in both of their minds. 

“Through some Dodgers I’d housed. Military police aren’t as big on ruffling feathers of civilians, so it’s usually safer for them to stay with us. Not easy to get in touch with them, mind you, but they told me about this. Decided to join,” she shrugged. 

Raelle couldn’t keep quiet any longer, “And you know…Scylla Ramshorn?”

“Um, yeah? One of the women who put this whole movement together?” she knitted her eyebrows, “Honestly, we only met her not too long ago. According to Anacostia she was out doing recon for us, and then when Anacostia had to leave, Scylla came by not long after,”

“Yeah, but you know what she’s…done?” Abigail pushed.

Tally subtly elbowed her as the woman knit her eyebrows together. “Um…plan a revolution?” she tried. 

“Yeah, sorry, we know, we’re just surprised, is all,” Tally apologized, shooting her unit a warning look to let the topic drop.

The woman gave her a confused smile. “No worries. It usually takes witches a moment to adjust. Especially if you’re ex-Spree,” she eyed them warily. 

Abigail rolled her eyes, “We’re military,”

She shrugged, “Takes them a minute to adjust sometimes, too. But, um,” the woman looked unsure what to do, with three witches gawking at her. Clearly, everyone was confused, and Raelle resisted the urge to rub her temples with her fingers. There…there were civilians on the compound…

Of course there were. It made sense, from a purely numbers standpoint. Civilians outnumbered witches by no small amount. But…well, not to sound crass, but they weren’t terribly efficient in witch warfare nor customs. Having them would be a risk, which would mean there was a reason, but she couldn’t see it and it put her right back on edge. Whose idea was it to have civilians?

Would it matter? 

“Well, thanks for being willing to unlock the door for me, at any rate. Would you guys mind just keeping an eye on this so I can go grab someone else?” she asked, sending them one last confused, uneasy smile.

The unit nodded dumbly, and the woman turned and took her leave. 

Raelle stared, concerned, at Abigail and Tally, who reflected her confusion right back at her. 

\---

_They found civilians. Civilians who wanted to help. Who jumped on the cause without question. Who blindly, willingly, accepted Anacostia’s invitation to action._

_Anacostia couldn’t come to visit her to tell her, but Scylla’d received the message and sat in her cell, stunned despite herself._

_It felt like…like a weight on her chest, squeezing the breath from her. There were civilians, willing to risk their all, to save witches, and the thought of it stung her eyes as the gravity of all that she had done settled on her shoulders, heavier than any burden she’d yet to bear._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even Abigail understands in her own way, we STAN. Or well, I do. I'll let you guys decide how you feel about her in general. 
> 
> There's some growth we like to see! It's one thing for Scylla to realize her actions were wrong, but I think...quite another for her to start to perceive the humanity of her enemies. In this case, it's more that they serve a purpose, but well...it's something. We talk about Abigail being the least open to nuance, but I think, despite all of her intelligence, Scylla was far too blinded by her (righteous, admittedly) anger and hatred. And let's be real...she'd have to realize all of this, and more, for Raelle to even remotely accept that she's changed. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the double-feature! It doesn't affect the upload schedule so next update will be Wednesday, barring any unforeseen issues we know happens sometimes now whoops... 😅


	16. Clashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all you readers! I hope you're all doing well and surviving out there in this absolutely weird time we find ourselves in. I don't know about you guys, but my new home's government has been contemplating another soft shut down so we'll...see how that goes...
> 
> Also I know I'm putting you guys through the worst slow burn - in all fairness, I did warn you ;) - and in the interest of honesty, you've still got a few more chapters before things get...physical. I still have some Raylla scenes in the chapters until that happens, but for the scenes where Raelle finally just lets herself feel those feels for Scylla, it won't be for a little longer (but no, it's not the last chapter: I may be cruel but I'm not that mean!) You can always message me if you're desperately burning to know which chapter.
> 
> I guess I can call that a warning? Anyway, obviously it's up to you if you want to wait, but I'll keep plugging along with the updates until we get there regardless. :) All of you along for the ride: happy to have you! ^_^
> 
> Anyway! That's that on that! Hope you enjoy this chapter, Raelle's got a problem and she's gotta talk to a certain someone about it... 
> 
> Enjoy!

Really…once Raelle realized there were civilians there…she kind of felt stupid for not having noticed it sooner. It seemed almost…obvious, now that they knew what to look for. Not that witches usually used seeds for things like cooking or cleaning, but there were household seeds used to help with stubborn foodstuffs or to boil water quickly, which people at the compound didn’t seem to use, and now Raelle understood why. Because they couldn’t. Or well…some could, but most couldn’t.

She felt like her eyes had been opened to a world she had seen before, sure, but it looked entirely different. Truly, she had never seen the military, Spree, Dodgers, and civilians intermingling as though it were nothing. As though it were normal.

As though this was a future that was being envisioned, and brought to life, right before their eyes.

She felt like she was seeing the compound for the very first time. How many civilians had they been speaking to, thinking they were witches? How many of the people working on the bombs or whatever the weapon was, were actually civilians? Did this mean that the civilians knew about the bombs? Did they know what they were being used for? Were they okay with it all?

It appeared so. Raelle made it a point to speak with more people in the day following that encounter with the woman, than she had during her entire time in compound. It didn’t take long for a pattern to emerge: everyone had been recruited for the cause via third parties, most of them being Dodgers who told witch supporters, who told other supporters. Even ex-Spree confessed that they’d largely worked in peaceful cells, hiding Dodgers and working locally to improve witch lives where they could, focusing less on the violence against civilians and more in trying to influence local political offices and other such, tamer options for change. 

And, to top it all off…none of them knew who Scylla Ramshorn was, besides one half of their leadership team. Which, well…the unit had already known that, to an extent. But it felt almost…more deceptive, having civilians there and not knowing who they were working for. Not knowing the whole truth.

It made Raelle’s stomach churn, and she latched onto that feeling for dear life.

\---

_The plan started to take shape, if Scylla was correct in her counting, two years, two months, and eleven days after they had formed an alliance back in Fort Salem. They had the numbers. They had their base of operations. They had people settled in, awaiting their orders, and it felt so…odd, to realize that, even being so far away, in a cell…she was a leader in a revolutionary movement. One that didn’t have any means of revolution…yet, but Anacostia brought their first breakthrough up on their next visit._

_“I think we need to create a leader,” she said, suddenly, and Scylla furrowed her brow._

_“What-”_

_“We need a symbol. Something people outside of our own camp can look to, and admire, and get behind. Every movement needs strong leaders at the helm, inspiring people, spurring them into action. For centuries, Alder was the symbol for the military. Washington, the symbol for the United States. We can’t be the open leaders of the movement because, well. I’m a ranking officer with too much to lose unless this works, and you’re a terrorist,”_

_Scylla rolled her eyes, but she knew that Anacostia had a point. As far as faces of a movement went, theirs were not ideal._

_“I think we need a hero unit. We need people that regular civilians and military personnel will respect, even lionize. And a hero unit would work. Recently, a unit was rescued from the outskirts of a small enemy stronghold in Qatar. They were held prisoner there for nearly a year-”_

_Scylla tried not to scoff. A year? Amateurs._

_Anacostia glared at her as though she knew the little cough was Scylla covering up something derisive before she continued, “And they’re being honored today with medals of Valor for their service,”_

_“The military and their medals,” Scylla sat back in her chair, folding her arms._

_“Decorated soldiers are popular soldiers, Ramshorn,” Anacostia leaned on the table, a fire burning in her eyes. “Now I’m not proposing that we send an actual unit out to get POWed or MIAed, but…what if we could make it look like they had? What if we could get a unit into our cause, get them notoriety, fame, reverence…until the public would hang on their every word? What if, instead of trying to build our own narrative, or trying to strong-arm the military with numbers…we tear this down from the inside? Using the structures the military has already built?”_

_Scylla stared, taken aback by the fire in Anacostia’s eyes: indeed, the most fired up she’d really seen the woman. She liked it. Except-_

_“It’s a great idea,” Scylla conceded, “Especially using what we already have…what the military already has in place, to bring about change,” the idea actually had Scylla feeling almost…giddy. How nice it would be, to see her dream of using the military’s own tactics against them come to full fruition, and by the hands of an actual officer who had grown up steeped in the military itself. The thought was almost too delicious. However…_

_“However…I think it has to be bigger than that. We can’t just take one unit and let everything ride on them: at the end of the day, they’re still witches. Some civilians may worship them for their heroics, but others will hate them, regardless. They’ll only see their faults-”_

_“We could have the unit rescue civilians. That’ll garner more sympathy-”_

_Scylla shook her head, “Spree would never support it. They’re not going to lay down their weapons, all their plans, because some military darlings survived some harrowing ordeal. They’re not special. Many of us have survived worse,” Scylla rattled her broken chains for emphasis._

_Anacostia rolled her eyes but sat down, conceding._

_“We can’t rely solely on military narratives here, Anacostia,” Scylla continued, “We need something else. Something that covers the rest of the bases that a lionized unit doesn’t. Something big, something Spree would do and respect, something to get their attention. Something like…” Scylla quieted, eyes widening as realization hit her, “a bomb.”_

_She laughed, staring at her palms, shocked at the revelation. They needed a fucking bomb. Of course!_

_“Absolutely not,” Anacostia immediately cut in, and Scylla looked up at her. She had her arms crossed, an angry and indignant expression on her face. “We are not setting off a bomb. If we can do this without casualties-”_

_“There will probably be casualties, Anacostia,” Scylla shot back, “there always are. But-”_

_“If you want to construct a bomb, then I cannot sit here and let you do it. I’ll report you,”_

_Scylla stared at her, incredulous, “That would bring you down, too. And everything we’ve worked for-”_

_“I’m not letting you make a fucking bomb, Ramshorn-”_

_Scylla grunted, annoyed, “If you would let me fucking finish!” she practically shouted, temporarily losing her cool._

_Anacostia raised an eyebrow at her, but shut her mouth all the same._

_Scylla drew in a breath, then another, before continuing, “It wouldn’t be a real bomb, per se. Spree, we…we made bombs for things like the mall, yes, but they weren’t bombs, really. They were…Suggestion seeds, bottled up and transported and amplified to affect as many people as possible. All of our bombs for mass suicide attacks like the mall are just seeds that are preserved in a space until they are released. Balloons, mostly, but other things can be used. Anything where a Whisper can be held and cultivated. And I’ve always been rather gifted with Suggestion seeds, they’re how I killed Porter, after all-” Scylla snapped her mouth shut. She hadn’t meant to ramble nor to reveal that, a little detail that she…hadn’t exactly told anyone, least of all Anacostia, who had both of her eyebrows raised but who seemed like, by the grace of the goddess, she was willing to ignore that detail in favor of allowing Scylla to continue._

_Scylla swallowed and nodded, “Um, well. Something like that, it…it can be modified. Suggestions don’t have to be ‘go throw yourself off the highest balcony’. They can be used for other things. I can…we can fix it. Change it, to suit our needs. We can make the suggestions be anything.”_

_Anacostia rolled her eyes. “Like what? ‘Start a revolution’?”_

_Scylla shook her head, flaring her nostrils in annoyance, “I mean, nothing so stupidly vague. But…something different. Something…better. I don’t know what yet, but…I think it’s just crazy enough to work…”_

_Anacostia eyed her. “So you think you can take this…bomb, thing, and turn it into something that isn’t actually a bomb, per se, in that it won’t hurt civilians?”_

_Scylla bit her lip, thinking, “Well. As far as I know, even when it’s just simple Suggestions that are non-violent…people still end up in hospitals. But!” she quickly added as Anacostia went to protest, “I’m sure that’s a kink we can work out. Spree don’t care about civilian lives, but if we do-”_

_Anacostia glared at her incredulously, so she amended, “-since we do, I don’t see why we can’t change that. It’ll take me some time, but I think it’s an option. A good one,” she said seriously._

_Anacostia continued to eye her for a moment, looking doubtful, before ever so slightly nodding in agreement. “Fine, we’ll consider it. It’s on the table. But!” Anacostia glared, “If you can’t modify it, it’s off the table,”_

_“Done,”_

\---

Raelle let the feeling fester until she wore it like armor, using it to hide what she’d been so close to accepting, and it fueled her like a fire. So the next time she saw Scylla, she squared her shoulders and marched up to her, grabbing her elbow to get her attention. 

Scylla looked at her elbow with a frosty glare that would have made Raelle shiver, were she not wrapped up in righteous indignation on behalf of everyone working in that compound. The look melted, however, when Scylla saw it was Raelle. She gave her a hesitant half-smile.

“Raelle-” she started, but Raelle tugged at her, pulling her along and away from the people she’d been approaching.

“We need to talk,” she said seriously, which shut Scylla up, surprisingly, and Raelle took her out into one of the halls. Raelle’s sense of direction failed her, thanks in part to the adrenaline she could feel starting to surge in her veins. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, to stop in the middle of the hall, but there was no one there, so Raelle did, unable to bring herself to go any further, the burning question on her lips out before she could stop it.

“Why doesn’t anyone know you here?”

Scylla raised an eyebrow, “Everyone knows me?”

Raelle shook her head, “No, I mean…you were a Dodger. Why don’t any of the Dodgers here know you?”

“Oh. Well, we never used our real names,” Scylla said, tilting her head and furrowing her brow in concern, looking confused as to Raelle’s stiff posture. “Not to mention we changed our appearance, every new place we went. Nothing crazy, just haircuts or dyes, new clothes, that type of thing. Even if I had met any of them, it likely would have been in passing, and they probably would have been in disguise, too. It’s entirely possible I knew some of them, but-”

“Scylla,” Raelle cut her off, clenching her jaw, “There are civilians here,”

Scylla raised her other eyebrow, “Yes? Didn’t Anacostia mention?”

“No, she did not. Neither did you. Whose idea was that?”

“To not mention-”

“Don’t be a dick,” Raelle snapped, folding her arms, “Whose idea was that?”

It seemed to dawn on Scylla, then, that Raelle was upset. She straightened, if only just, eyeing Raelle with confusion and an inkling of defensiveness. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters, Scylla! Because if it was yours, you have to admit that’s suspicious as hell,”

Scylla’s gaze hardened, “Why?”

“Because of what you did. No one knows what you did, do they?”

It was Scylla’s turn to fold her arms, eyes slowly going from warm to cool as she started to square off, “Why would they? When we started to involve civilians, we decided it would be best for them to not know that there was a wolf in sheep’s clothing among them. We didn’t mention it to you for the very same reason: if you had known, don’t tell me your unit wouldn’t have immediately mentioned it to everyone here. It was already a risk having you and your unit around the compound, but I had faith you wouldn't mention anything. At least...not to witches. Because you have the same goal that Anacostia and I do, and so do they, and on some level, I think we all know that. But if you'd known there were civilians?" Scylla shook her head, "I had no doubt you would react how you are now. So what else could we have done? Ask you to pretty-please-not-tell-anyone?”

It was the flippancy with which she said the statement, a sort of snarky edge to her tone, that did it. That pushed Raelle over the edge.

“So you’re misleading all of them?” Raelle shot, and Scylla scoffed. 

“Lying by omission, at best,” she shot back. 

Raelle snorted, “That’s not any better. You’re hiding the truth regardless, trying to erase your history!” she accused, her voice low, nearly a hiss. 

To her credit, Scylla looked genuinely taken aback before she pinched the bridge of her nose, “No, I’m not,” she said, sounding tired. 

“Yes you are!” Raelle contradicted, “None of those people know who you are or what you’ve done! None of the civilians, especially. And that’s fucked up. They deserve to know who they’re working for!” she said it a little louder than she meant, gesturing back toward the Rec room they’d come from, and for a moment, panic flashed in Scylla’s eyes and she gestured with her hands for Raelle to lower her voice. 

The panic faded to bitterness, even controlled anger, storms building in her eyes as she hissed, “What purpose would that serve, for me to tell them? Huh, Raelle?” she challenged, “Just to undermine this whole movement that Anacostia and I, and these people, have been working towards for months? Just to open old wounds these people are trying to heal from? To cause more pain than I already have? Why would I do that to them? I know perfectly well what I’ve done, and I have to deal with that for the rest of my goddamn life." Scylla said, breathes coming in short and shallow until the last line, where her breath hitched entirely as she said, "I’m not trying to erase my history, I’m trying to live with it!” 

The strangled sound of those words broke Raelle from her haze of anger, taking in the woman before her. 

Scylla looked genuinely upset, eyes brimming with…tears? There was genuine hurt in her eyes, real pain. It made them extra blue as the tears started to rim them red. Her nostrils flared with each inhale, and she looked like the anger she was projecting was just to hide a deep sadness, a pain that Raelle could feel in her very being, recognizing that deep pit of darkness within Scylla that she had hosted, however briefly, after their linking. 

Raelle nearly recoiled from the look. Scylla…was serious…? 

_I’m trying to live with it._ The words suddenly rang out and realization dawned. Scylla…was really remorseful. It was all there, right before her: a shattered woman grappling with a past, with demons, that were hers and hers alone. It hit Raelle, then. Scylla actually had changed…

Gone was the terrorist who had thought mass-murder was a necessary and logical step to liberation. Gone was the remorseless prisoner, unrepentant for her actions and for the violence she inflicted on others. In her stead was a woman, on the steep learning curve of clawing her way out of the darkness that once consumed her, and reflected in her eyes was Raelle, trying to push her back down. 

Raelle suddenly felt sick, and Scylla shook her head, clenching her jaw, before walking past Raelle, purposefully knocking her shoulder as she walked angrily away, truly upset. 

Raelle could do nothing but stare after her, completely shell-shocked.

\---

_The introduction of Specialist Collar into her life was an absolute boon, in more ways than one._

_She saw it the moment Collar stepped foot in Red, though she didn’t know her name at the time. Scylla’d had her pinky on the concrete right next to her door, observing. Something she sometimes did to pass the time. Some kind of commotion had gone down with someone in one of the cells and one of the new guards, which had resulted in immediate sleep inducement for the detainee, and some kind of fairly severe injury for the guard. Which, while entertaining, had resulted in a bunch of scurrying and tittering and then the guards had disappeared, leaving only the two stationed at the entrances. Very curious indeed, and Scylla had kept up her Seeing seed more out of curiosity than anything else. It’d been a while since a guard had been attacked, so it was exciting, to say the least._

_Collar strutted in with a chip on her shoulder, eyes tired, posture tired, radiating some kind of over-it attitude that had Scylla sitting up straighter in her cell. It also didn’t help that Collar was her type: stoic and full of barbs but with gorgeous blue eyes, even if they were dulled from her time served in the Army, angular features, and goddess, those braids looked fantastic on her..._

_All of that made messing with her Scylla’s top priority when she came through with a couple others for mobile library._

_It was a stunt that Scylla had pulled before. So much so that others started doing it too: asking for one book and then asking for another, over and over and over again until the guards lost their patience. It was what little amusement they really had, and Scylla liked to break in new guards using that little trick. It usually took them a while to catch on, especially if she laid her not-so-innocent charm on extra-thick, like she was doing for Collar._ _But Collar wasn’t as overwhelmed as other newbies, turning the tables on Scylla and handing her a copy of_ Guns, Germs, Steel and Magic _. A book Scylla had honestly read far too many times during her time at Cotton Mather, so she knew for a fact just how dry people found it._

 _She’d been handed a subtle (or what Collar clearly thought was subtle) punishment, and she was positively fucking_ delighted _. Oh, this was going to be fun._

_Engaging with Collar did prove to be entirely too easy, and entirely too entertaining. Collar had an exasperated air about her, like she was so done with everything that Scylla had to say, with everything at Cotton Mather, and up to and even including, with herself. She seemed like she very much was there to do a job and nothing else, her expression nearly always stoic, unbroken. Unamused. Unshakeable._

_Oh, but everyone could be broken, if one knew which buttons to press._

_Scylla had a knack for just pressing all of them._

_However, something a little different about Collar: she talked, and that’s how Scylla knew she had gotten under Collar’s skin. It was pretty obvious, even from their early discussions, that the military had tried very hard (and had failed) to get Collar to drink the Kool-Aid, but some part of her didn’t want to agree with Spree, either, and it was fairly obvious from that alone that Collar wasn’t entirely like Scylla. She wasn’t at the point that she would be willing to kill people, for either side. She saw both sides as a burden, extremes she was forced to choose between (or well, “choose” being fairly relative, she really had no choice when it came to the military) and Scylla could see, the more they spoke, that Collar was standing on that metaphorical precipice. Ready to fall out of the military’s clutches if presented with an alternative that more clearly aligned with her ideals._

_All she needed was a push, and so Scylla did just that. Pushed and pushed and pushed, subtly at first, and then with more insistence. With more force. More of that quiet needling she was so good at, but Collar surprised her in more ways than one. Which, while it should have been annoying…it was a breath of fresh air. Collar’s reactions were predictable, but…unique, especially compared to those who had come before her and who had bothered to interact with Scylla._

_Not that Scylla ever gave people much of a choice: she spoke to or at them, regardless of if they spoke back. It forced a sense of familiarity, even in the most stubborn of agents, so it was always in her interest to do so, but the fact that Collar engaged…it was a very good sign._

_So Scylla took advantage of that, capitalizing on Collar’s seeming inability to stop speaking with her. Scylla found that she genuinely started to look forward to seeing Specialist Collar, if for nothing else than for the company, though that slowly morphed into something more._

_Scylla realized, with each passing encounter, that she actually had a decent shot with Specialist Collar. That precipice was edging ever-nearer, but Scylla didn’t know how much time she had, after those first few weeks. She didn’t know what Specialist Collar’s schedule looked like, how many weeks or possibly months she had served before she’d wound up in Red Wing, nor how many weeks or months she had left on her stint at Cotton Mather._

_So Scylla took matters into her own hands to accelerate their connection. She didn’t really have much of an option: Anacostia wasn’t around and likely wouldn’t be back to Cotton Mather for a while, and Scylla wasn’t sure if Collar rotating out of Red would influence all of the progress Scylla had made with her in her three weeks in Red._

_It was a stupid but calculated risk that she decided to take. And sure, it was definitely for the mission…but Scylla would be lying if she said that was her only motivation._

_Specialist Collar was intriguing, and Scylla wasn’t in the business of lying to herself: she had a bit of a thing for her, and maybe what Scylla had to show her would ruin that thing…but she doubted it. She doubted it because she knew that Collar – stand-offish but so clearly good-hearted as she was – wouldn’t be able to_ not _sympathize with her circumstances, and so she made the decision._

_Scylla told a new guard, when Collar was rotated out of Red, that she would talk._

_“But only to Specialist Collar,”_

_The interrogation was scheduled not long after._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raelle, bb, you put up a valiant fight. But alas, Scylla's redemption is stronger. Now she knows Scylla's changed, like...for real. But there's still the question of the bomb, and the plan, and what all of that entails...
> 
> Anywho, hope you liked it, even though I made them fight a little. It was a necessary confrontation: Raelle reacted a lot like Anacostia to the realization that there would be civilians, but because Raelle has a lot more to lose, feelings-wise, she let herself get very angry on behalf of civilians, but really...it was just an excuse to try to deny her feelings one last time. Raelle honey it did not work...
> 
> Also though...now we get to see a bit of Scylla's perspective on Raelle during her time at Cotton Mather... 👀👀


	17. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all you lovely people! Thank you for all the lovely and engaging comments, I'm glad all of you are along for this slow-burn ride! 
> 
> There's not much else to say today, no warnings, etc. so I guess, let's get on with it!
> 
> Enjoy!

“She’s right,” a deep voice made Raelle jump and spin around. She ended up face to face with the tall man – Scylla’s mysterious friend Andre. He held a cup of steaming…tea, she assumed, in his hand, and smiled a gentle smile at Raelle. 

Raelle expelled a breath. “You heard that?”

“Not all of it, but enough,” he said with a half-shrug. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I needed to speak with Scylla and everyone said she’d been dragged away by one of the new people. Didn’t realize it was a serious conversation until it was too late for me to turn around,”

Raelle clenched her jaw. “Oh,”

“But, um. For what it’s worth, she’s right. It’s…well, it’s not as obvious anymore, but she struggles with…well. Everything. With what she’s done.”

“Do you…” Raelle lowered her voice, “Do you know what she did?” Raelle found herself asking, morbidly curious despite herself. 

Andre quirked up the corner of his mouth, almost a smile, half a grimace. “Not…exactly. I have my suspicions. But it doesn’t take a keen mind to figure out it was bad. She was Spree, after all. She readily admitted that to all of us when she first arrived. And well…” he squinted at a point above Raelle’s head, thinking of his next words, “she also wasn’t good about hiding her contempt for us, at first. Her own distrust. It was pretty obvious that she wasn’t a big fan of civilians, so it’s not like it’s a big leap to figure out someone who was once Spree, who didn’t like nor trust us, probably was used to hurting us. Other ex-Spree I met here weren’t as…vehement, in their cold demeanor and clipped conversations. So, you know. I put two and two together,”

“You’d hate her if you knew what she’d done,” Raelle said quietly, feeling her stomach drop at the realization. She had seen Andre with Scylla many, many times. They seemed to get along well, to the point that Raelle really would have never guessed he was a civilian. In fact…Scylla hadn’t acted any differently around the civilians in the compound. So much so that no one in her unit had even realized there were civilians there.

The realization struck Raelle, then. She hadn’t noticed because no one had acted like it was weird. Not even Scylla herself. 

Andre sighed, “Perhaps I would,” he acquiesced, “And I think none of us are under any illusions about that. Otherwise, perhaps she would have already told us,” he gave Raelle a pointed look. “At the end of the day, though…when words fail, we must turn to actions. The actions of her past very well may outweigh the actions of her present, but does it not mean something that she is trying to tip the scales?” Andre quirked an eyebrow. 

Raelle tilted her head, contemplative. 

“I don’t know,” she said, though she was fairly certain that she actually did.

Andre nodded. “You don’t need to know. I think that's something that every person has to decide for themselves. For me, I see it in her. Whatever it was she did, it weighs on her. I can tell, because of how soft-spoken she becomes around civilians. Around me, honestly. She trusts me, and I think sometimes that even she herself is surprised by that. Like some part of her still can’t believe she’s working with someone she once would have killed without hesitation. And that I’m letting her: even, on some level, knowing that about her. 

“But then I see the resolve, you know? This little look of determination she gets, when she starts to return to how she was before.”

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Did you know? At first, she could barely even look at me. And now?” he looked contemplative; “You can see it. The guilt. The resolve. She feels sorry for it, whatever it was. And for me, at least…that counts for something.

Raelle stared, shocked. 

Andre sent her one last smile, “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it,”

To what, she wasn’t sure, but he nodded at her before walking around her, continuing down the hall without another word, leaving Raelle, once again, to stand in surprise and absorb all that she had just heard.

\---

_“You look like shit,”_

_Scylla glared, as best she could through her black eye, swollen shut as it was, at Anacostia, who was looking at her with a mix of confusion, contempt, and annoyance._

_“I’m really not in the mood today, Anacostia,” Scylla said flatly, slouching in her chair and crossing her arms._

_“And you think I am?”_

_“No offense,” Scylla snarled, “But of the two of us, I think I’m having a worse day than you,” she indicated her face, which she knew was nearly entirely black and blue. She’d been unable to heal it because they’d kept her in an induced-sleep until she’d been fitted with a new collar, which she absolutely hated. The only perk to it was that, jet-black and solid, it almost matched her face. The only consolation was that it turned out it had been expedited from Fort Salem, and that Anacostia had fitted her with it while she was out. Which meant she could still do some vocal seeds, but she wasn’t going to._

_She’d already gotten reamed out for the broken cuffs. That was the first thing Anacostia had started with, when Scylla had been brought into the interrogation room, and her head ached and her body was nearly as bruised as her face. She’d been held in Oyer for what she assumed were days, if not longer, and it was the longest, and most physically brutal stint she’d had. She couldn’t say she was in a great mood, and honestly, were she truly able, she would go back in time and tear out a couple vocal cords in the few moments of violence she had at the end of her “interrogation” with Raelle._

_She knew that technically, the punishment was deserved, but it was certainly excessive. She never really thought that just straight-up beatings were a thing that the military actually did, but well. It wouldn’t be the first time she was wrong about something._

_“I just can’t believe how much you put in jeopardy for this, Ramshorn. What you did was reckless, even for you, and especially considering our precarious circumstances. Do you know how much shit we would have been in if I didn’t insist on inspecting your collar myself? Not to mention personally selecting the new one for you. That little stunt you pulled could have cost us all of this effort. All of it. They could execute you for this,”_

_Scylla rolled her good eye. “They wouldn’t dare, they’re still convinced I’m some higher-up, thanks to your constant visits,”_

_“They’ll only hold out so long. Don’t give them a reason to expedite your judgement,”_

_Scylla knew Anacostia had a point, but held fast, arms still crossed in defiance. “I’m not going to apologize. I needed to do it,”_

_Anacostia let out an exasperated noise. “You ‘needed’ to break your cuffs, traumatize a first-time prison guard, and physically harm several officers?”_

_Scylla felt the corner of her mouth tick up in a defiant half-smile. “Well, that part was just for fun,”_

_“Watch it, Ramshorn,”_

_Scylla sneered, “Half the shit they’ve pulled on me, I’m not sorry for what I did to them,” she raised her chin defiantly._

_“And traumatizing Collar?”_

_The wind immediately left Scylla’s sails, though she tried not to show it. That…that hadn’t been the plan. Not all of it, of course. The plan hadn’t been to invade Raelle’s own private memories: the plan had been to show her how vicious the military was. She’d used the same trick on Anacostia, so she knew that it was traumatizing. That was the point. The shock, she hoped, would shatter what little hold the military had on Raelle Collar’s psyche, which had been Scylla’s original goal._

_Like with Anacostia, though, she hadn’t counted on Raelle’s own grief, triggered by Scylla’s unfiltered memories. She had felt Raelle’s pain, nearly as palpable as her own, and also like Anacostia, Raelle had not endured a life of hardship quite like Scylla’s. She hadn’t had an amazing life, but the warmth Scylla felt before Raelle’s mother burst into flames gave away that it hadn’t been lacking in love: in a sense of community and belonging, so characteristic of the poor families of the Cession. Raelle had never had to face the constant fear of being hunted. Until her mother had died, it seemed she hadn’t particularly grappled with what her own conscription meant, nor what her future would look like. It was…astounding, to feel the shift from a sense of peace in those warm blue eyes, to the pain of loss, a sense of hopelessness that Scylla knew all too well. But Raelle wasn’t prepared to deal with those feelings. Her grief, like an animal, ran wild, and it had made Scylla’s own heart pound recklessly in her chest._

_She’d had no idea that Raelle had lost her mother, apparently by fire as well. The plan had been to traumatize Specialist Collar…but not that much. Not to bring up such painful memories of her own. It actually…it physically pained Scylla to think about it, the memory of Raelle’s grief still fresh. She’d reopened that wound, and that hadn’t been fair. She’d crossed a line, and she quietly vowed to herself to never do something like that to Raelle: to never violate one of Raelle's clear boundaries ever again. She owed her that much, after she'd already destroyed a fair amount of them, so it was only fair that if they ever got to see each other again…she put forth the effort.  
_

_Scylla_ _winced despite herself._

_“That…was necessary, but regrettable,”_

_Anacostia sighed, leaning on the back of the chair before her. “Regrettable?”_

_Scylla nodded, “I didn’t mean…I didn’t want to hurt her. Not like I did. I just wanted to show her what…what I showed you. To have her face the military’s brutality, head-on. I needed to break her,”_

_“What the hell for?” Anacostia shot back, looking angry herself._

_Scylla furrowed her brow, surprised at that reaction. “She’s perfect,” Scylla whispered._

_“What?”_

_“She’s perfect, Anacostia. For your hero narrative. For our plan,”_

_Anacostia snorted, “You couldn’t have chosen literally anyone else? Raelle has always been…iffy, about the military. But she’s part of the Bellweather unit. She’s practically a military darling by default,”_

_It was Scylla’s turn to snort, “She’s hardly loyal to the military, whether she’s been adopted as a ‘darling’ or not,”_

_Anacostia bit her lip and remained silent for a moment. “I…I know. I personally oversaw the Bellweather unit from the beginning of their basic training at Fort Salem. They’re…they’re trouble, for the military. The only one of them that even remains remotely entrenched in military traditions is Bellweather herself, and even she is starting to fall apart at the seams,” Anacostia sighed. “And I know Alder specifically sent Raelle here to break her resolve. To show her what the military fights against and with the hopes that it would be enough to put her back in line. But Collar doesn’t work like that. She never has,”_

_“She’s special,” Scylla surmised, and Anacostia pinched the bridge of her nose._

_“She’s a pain in my ass, is what she is. Collar arrived at Fort Salem with a death wish and only made it through Basic out of concern for her unit, which came from their hard-earned love for her. She came in with the intent of being war meat, and I sometimes wonder if she ever really grew out of that mindset,”_

_“I’ve got her,” Scylla said, suddenly feeling determined._

_Anacostia barked out a laugh, “I doubt that. Collar doesn’t have the best attitude on her good days, I can only imagine how much she’ll hate you after you assaulted her like that,”_

_“You doubt me, Anacostia?” Scylla asked, annoyed._

_Anacostia shook her head, “You, I don’t doubt. That silver tongue of yours has probably saved you from more consequences than I could ever guess-”_

_Scylla couldn’t help but be a little bit smugly pleased, at that._

_“-but,” Anacostia leveled her with a slightly exasperated stare, “I doubt Collar,”_

_“I’ve got her,” Scylla insisted. Despite it all…despite evidence entirely to the contrary, based on the horrified look on Raelle's face alone – a look that haunted Scylla more so than the actual memories of Raelle’s mother’s death – Scylla knew, deep down, that she was right. She had Raelle. They had a bond now, one that Raelle’s good nature would be unable to deny. And she had something of Raelle’s: something personal, and she knew that Raelle had a fire in her that would not allow her to move on from that violation._

_Scylla had her, and the thought was simultaneously sickening and elating. She wasn’t proud of it, but she’d done what she had to. Now she could only hope to do some damage control, so that Raelle didn’t look at her with those same hurt eyes that she had after the interrogation._

_Anacostia sighed, “If you really have her…if you really have Collar, then this…this could be exactly what we need. She’s a military darling thanks to her ties to the Bellweathers. Her unit is well-respected and well-tolerated due to Bellweather’s connections, despite being known to cause trouble. If you really have her…we may have our hero unit, after all,”_

_“I’ll keep doing what I can to assure that she’s ours,” Scylla said, seriously, “But I don’t know how much more time I’ll have with her. Keep an eye on her and her unit,”_

_Anacostia pursed her lips but nodded tersely, and Scylla allowed some of the tension to leave her body. Good. At least all of that pain hadn’t been for naught._

\---

“I’m in,”

Abigail and Tally looked up from what they were doing: Tally reading, and Abigail going over that damn tiny notebook. 

Both stared at Raelle, unsure. 

“Sorr-”

“The plan. The resistance. Whatever we want to call it. I’m in,”

“You’re sure?” Tally asked, setting her book aside. 

Raelle clenched her jaw, the vision of a broken Scylla still fresh in her mind, and she nodded. She was sure. “Yes.”

Abigail threw her hands up in the air. “Well fuck, if you’re both in then I guess I’m in, too.”

Raelle smiled gratefully at her unit, glad that despite obvious questions in their gazes, no one asked. They didn’t need to, and truly, she loved them for that.

\---

_The Harry Potter book was an absolute shock, and Scylla didn’t even move from where she stood in her cell, staring at the cover long after Raelle had left._

_She’d known, after Raelle had released all of her frustration and pain at Scylla, that she well and truly had made a connection, no matter how reluctant Raelle was to admit it. They were bonded in their shared trauma and their anger at the military for taking something so precious from them. Whether Raelle liked it or not, they were two sides of the same coin, even more so than Scylla had realized. She wasn’t sorry she’d done it, but she did feel bad, and she felt…genuine connection. No longer was she trying to get Raelle to see her side: to get Raelle to question those last tenuous connections she had to the military._

_No, now…now, she was trying to get Raelle to see_ her _. Scylla Ramshorn, as she lived and breathed, flesh and blood, a terrorist but also human, fighting for what she felt was right, for what she knew was right, at all costs. She knew that Raelle understood. There was a brightness to Raelle, an intensity, that was magnetic and so familiar to Scylla that it made her heart ache in a way she hadn’t really felt…ever. Raelle was something special, and if she hadn’t thought that before their linking, well…_

_She couldn’t deny that she felt something for her, and Scylla was not one to lie to herself. More than anything, she felt a longing for Raelle to trust her. To see her, not as a monster, but as a woman, as desperate as her sisters and cousins to just want to survive, in peace, without fear of persecution. More than anything, she wanted Raelle to understand, and, staring at the book in her hand, she felt the tears that had been welling in her eyes start to fall._

_Raelle did see her. Raelle saw her, and all of the proof was there, in her hand. She had so many questions, but beyond that, she felt a swell of gratitude and awe so large it threatened to swallow her whole._

_She…she didn’t deserve this book. Were the tables turned, she doubted she would have taken the time to smuggle in the request of a person who had mentally assaulted her. Who had relentless dogged her, constantly making her question herself, constantly having to defend herself. Were the tables turned, and Scylla given the choice to extend an olive branch to someone who had been little more than antagonistic for most of the time she'd known her - a terrorist on top of it, even! - she couldn't say that she would see a reason to do it. The consequences for doing so would be absolutely dire, and she had nothing to gain by doing it. Which meant that Raelle was just being kind…for kindness’ sake, and the thought was actually startling._

_Had it been so long that she had been shown such common courtesy? Such a modicum of respect?_

_It truly had. The questions continued to build, but Raelle had closed the slot ages, and Scylla wasn’t exactly going to just yell her questions out, so it would be better not to dwell on them. Still, she tucked them away for later, cracking open the book reverently, still a bit disbelieving that it was in her grasp._

\---

“We’re in,”

Anacostia looked up from the papers in front of her on the table, glaring at the sudden interruption, but in all fairness, they _had_ knocked before Abigail busted open the door and announced that.

Anacostia raised an eyebrow as she actually digested the words. She sat back in her chair, eyeing them, as though trying to decide if they were serious. Her gaze lingered on Raelle especially, who returned the look steadfastly: decided. 

Still, Anacostia asked, “You’re in?”

“We’re in,” Tally reinforced. 

Anacostia kept staring, before she nodded, the corners of her mouth ticking up, if only just. “Well then, ladies. Welcome to the resistance. For real, this time,” she murmured a seed and their collars fell from their necks. “Take a seat, we’re going to be here a while,”

\--- 

_It felt so fucking good to be out of her goddamn cell. It said a lot, that the helicopter belly was actually larger than her cell had been, but she had her fucking collar off and she had a lighter in her hand, and she felt like she’d been unleashed. Ready to wreak havoc and chaos, chomping at the bit to release so much of the nervous energy she’d built up in prison. It would have to wait, but the fact that she was free now helped take the edge off the feeling._

_Anacostia stared at her as she flicked the lighter open and closed, over and over again, delighting in the simple pleasure of being able to do so. She’d already altered her appearance. She didn’t know where they were going, but she’d picked someone she hadn’t seen in years, anyway. Anacostia seemed fairly nonplussed, even a little uncomfortable, to be looking at Scylla in the guise of someone else, but it was safer, if exhausting, for Scylla to hide her face until they were able to securely get her to the bunker, and they both knew that._

_“The Bellweather unit…” Anacostia finally started, once they’d been in the air for a few minutes, and Cotton Mather and Corey Isle were somewhere behind them, “Is a good idea. Tally Craven has been caught numerous times snooping through archives she’s not supposed to even have access to. She’s been suspicious of the military for a long time. Bellweather is better at hiding it, but I think she’s following in her unit’s footsteps. She’s loyal to them, more so than the military, at this point. I don’t know what’s changed her mind, but it doesn’t matter. If we can get the Bellweather unit-”_

_“We can,” Scylla spoke up._

_Anacostia eyed her, looking uncertain before setting her jaw and nodding. “Fine. That’s sorted, then. Now, what are our next steps? Have you had any luck with your bomb idea?”_

_Scylla stopped her fidgeting with her lighter and gave Anacostia a sheepish look. “I…well, they never showed me how to actually make the bombs-”_

_Anacostia glared, “So you don’t know what you’re doing or how to actually fix them,”_

_Scylla rolled her eyes, “No, I don’t know. Not yet. But I can figure it out. It’ll take a bit of time, probably at least a few months, and I’ll have to do some recon missions to get the information-”_

_“No,” Anacostia said firmly, shaking her head._

_Scylla stared at her, incredulous. “‘No’?”_

_“Absolutely not. That’s far too dangerous,”_

_Scylla pursed her lips, “Please, Anacostia. My whole life has been nothing but dangerous. From the moment I was born, I was on the run. I grew up learning how to memorize new identities in a matter of minutes, learning whole lives in a few hours. I’m used to having new names, having my cover blown and having to bullshit my way out of sticky situations. I can handle it. And it’s not like I’m going to walk right into a Spree safe house as Scylla Ramshorn, I’m not a fucking moron,” she indicated her new appearance for emphasis, “I can be anyone. I can learn to become anyone. It’s what I’ve been doing my whole life. Not to mention, Spree isn’t exactly organized. Every individual cell, sure, but communication between cells is rocky at best. I can do this. Infiltrating Spree won’t be a problem. If I can do it in the military, I think I can do the reverse, too,”_

_“You got caught infiltrating the military,” Anacostia pointed out flatly._

_Scylla rolled her eyes, “That was years ago, and I’d been there for nearly two years before I was discovered. I’d be with a Spree cell for a matter of days, at most. I can do this, Anacostia,” Scylla said seriously, making sure to hold Anacostia’s concerned gaze. “This is what I was born for. Subterfuge is practically my middle name.”_

_“Bad-at-it, more like,” Anacostia muttered, and Scylla couldn’t help the small chuckle she let out at that._

_Anacostia folded her arms, looking none too pleased, but also a bit resigned. “Fine. Not like we have much of a choice. But just…” Anacostia looked like she genuinely couldn’t believe she was saying the words, but she also furrowed her brow in genuine concern, “Be careful. And be safe. We have a lot riding on this,”_

_“I know. It’ll take me a while, and I promise I’ll vary which cells I infiltrate. It’ll be harder to catch me that way. But I can do this, Anacostia. I’ll just need time.”_

_“That’s fine, I’ll need time to come up with a way to safely get the Bellweather unit to our compound: I don’t trust telling them any of this anywhere but there. I have no idea how I’m going to do that,” she said, shaking her head._

_Scylla smiled at her. “We’ll figure it out,”_

_“Yeah, well,” Anacostia sighed, “We’d better,”_

_And Scylla couldn’t help but laugh at that, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mamacostia getting upset at the thought of Scylla doing something too dangerous. 🥺 Mamacostia being concerned for Scylla's safety. 🥺 Mamacostia being a tough mama bear who doesn't want her cub to come into harm and showing it in that way that she has. 🥺🥺🥺
> 
> Also Scylla realizing that she'd made a real connection with Raelle when Raelle gave her that book, bb. 🥺🥺
> 
> And now the unit is IN, the plan is a go and we're getting closer and closer to all the cards being on the table (finally!)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, see you soon for the next one and stay safe!


	18. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Welcome to another chapter! I hope you're all doing well! 
> 
> Honestly not much to say before this chapter, but certainly a lot to say at the end of it lmao. Had to do a lot of research for this puppy, even if in the chapter it's really not noticeable...
> 
> Anyway, enough about me, enjoy!

Anacostia wasn’t kidding. She told them everything, standing up from where she’d been sitting to gather a thick stack of files. 

“Some of your counterparts here who are military,” she explained, letting the thick folders fall onto the table, “Have been missing from their bases, MIA in the same mission that you were sent on: a Spree stronghold to the north. This stronghold is old but still active: it’s real enough that Spree keep tabs on it, but they haven’t used it recently. Some of the military witches here have been gone for over a year. Others, for a few months or even a few weeks, and everything in between. They're all officially MIA, and you will be heroes who bring them home from their harrowing ordeal. You will have to study and learn these files thoroughly: they tell the entire story. How your chopper went down. How you were captured and held prisoner for months on end before you banded together to destroy the Spree stronghold and escape. 

“When you are ready and prepped, we will infiltrate the Spree stronghold. Scylla has an in with them and so has access to their rotations and is even working on assuring she is assigned to it for our target date. Our deadline is June. Every day until then, I need you three studying. I need you to know this entire plan backwards and forwards. I need you to be able to recite it in your sleep. Once you’ve done that, I’ll need you to memorize it again. I cannot emphasize, ladies, just how imperative it is that none of the information contained in these files is forgotten. I’ll be there, by your sides once this all goes down, in order to report any changes or tweaks back to Scylla and the others who will be working with her, but I will not be able to help much beyond that. This rests entirely on your shoulders. You, and your team, who will have briefings with you regarding how all of this will go down.

“Once June rolls around: we will destroy the Spree compound with a force large enough to call for immediate military intervention. Considering how long they’ve had their eyes on the area, this won’t be hard to do. Once you are rescued, you are to accept any and all accolades. The goal is for the three of you to come home as highly-decorated war heroes. You’ll have saved nearly everyone who had gone missing. You’re already military darlings: we want to elevate you to military goddesses. Revered by military and civilians alike. Some of your counterparts will even be civilians, ‘held’ by the Spree for who knows how long in their compound. Then, when the time comes…

Anacostia looked at each of them pointedly, “When the time comes, you flip the script. Use their own rhetoric against them. Reveal that it was actually the military that destroyed the compound: that was willing to kill its own and innocent civilians in order to take out Spree. Despite it not being true in this particular case...with any luck, we will be the only ones who know that. Indeed, for all of this to work, we must be the only ones to know that. And, if all goes well, this will be the proverbial domino that knocks down the rest to reveal all of the military’s hidden and...unsavory, truths.”

Raelle flipped open her packet.

“When is the time?” Abigail asked, curious. 

“The Fourth of July,” Anacostia told them, almost triumphantly. 

Raelle raised an eyebrow. Quite the date to choose, but she understood. Liberation. Freedom. It would be symbolic: the point at which Americans were at their most rabid for the supposed things their country stood for. They would be appalled to learn the opposite…in theory. 

It was certainly worth a shot, though something nagged at Raelle. “Will that work? On its own, I mean. I know it will cause outrage but…will it be enough to really…do anything?”

Anacostia nodded, the corner of her mouth just barely ticking up as she said, “Scylla said the same thing. That’s why it’s a two-pronged attack. That’s why she’s working on a weapon, and has been since she got out of prison. But you’ll have to speak with her to learn more about that. She did say that, in the event that you three agreed, you’re welcome to help with it. She’ll be thrilled to know you joined. You were her top choice,”

That startled Raelle, who felt her eyebrows shoot up. Even Abigail and Tally seemed surprised by that. 

“Really?” Abigail asked, voicing Raelle’s thoughts. 

Anacostia nodded, “Yes. She’ll welcome you in the Rec room, once we’re done here. But ladies,” Anacostia indicated their files, “We have a lot of work to do,”

They nodded, flipping open the files to start reading, Anacostia there to walk them through it all.

\---

_Of all of the things Scylla was grateful to the military for, it was, without a doubt, the honing of her Necro skills. She’d always been gifted with them anyway, but she had no idea just what she could truly do until she’d joined the witch Army. She’d had no idea what Necros in general could do, and for that, the military truly had been invaluable._

_There were other Spree agents who, like she had, were infiltrating military compounds, but not many of them were Necro, which meant that Spree probably would not see her coming. The few Necros she did know of that had joined Spree, had done so from being Dodgers, and didn’t have military training. Scylla doubted she was the only military-trained Necro Spree agent, but she did know that she was the only one on her caliber of clever. She certainly wasn’t the only person aware of the complex root systems of Mycelium and other mushrooms, connecting the realms of the living and the dead and every world in between, but she had no doubt that she was one of very few who knew how to access it with ease, let alone how to use it to her advantage._

_She’d tapped into it as soon as she was able to, sitting on the ground, eyes closed, fingers buried in fresh, dark earth, humming a seed to summon the roots to her. She could feel them wrapping around her fingertips and she changed her seed accordingly, asking for permission to see._

_It was granted, and she could feel them. Spree. Everywhere. A concentration of them not too far away, another somewhat large concentration on the west coast, huddled together: some sort of meeting. A few more hotspots, but she zeroed in on the ones closest to her, focusing._

_She did nothing but observe Spree cells closely like that, for weeks, to the chagrin of Anacostia. They’d parted ways not long after arriving back in Massachusetts, though Scylla had stayed close by, and Anacostia occasionally called to check in on her in the safe house she’d commandeered for them._

_It certainly was risky, but intel took time, and Scylla couldn’t exactly just walk into a Spree house, let alone a Spree stronghold like an armory, without some kind of plan. It was going to take a little while, and some listening, and some scheming._

_So she’d observed for weeks, before finally deciding to put her plan into action._

_It took some manipulation and luck, but she was able to get the location of the closest cell, murmuring a quiet “thank you” as the roots receded into the ground._

_Getting there wasn’t hard, either. Spree houses looked like any other, but she had the number and had committed to memory what the house looked like from the outside._

_“The way over, is under,” she recited, coming up to the woman sitting on the porch, rocking back and forth on a rocking chair._

_“The way out, is in,” the woman recited back. She eyed Scylla skeptically, “You’re new,”_

_Scylla nodded, “New here, just moved. Just stopping by, heading further west from Maine. Boss thought my talents would be of better use on the other coast,”_

_“What talents are those?”_

_Scylla squinted, “You the leader here?”_

_The woman smirked, “Maybe,”_

_“Then ‘maybe’ my talents are none of your business,” she shot back, which earned her an appreciative once-over before the woman nodded toward the door. Scylla, disguised as a Dodger girl she had met right before she’d taken her military oath, smiled and nodded before heading into the house._

_“You’re new,” someone immediately on the other side of the door muttered, upon her entering._

_She rolled her eyes, “Yes, you’re all quite observant, aren’t you?” she asked dryly._

_“We aren’t expecting new people,” he said, clicking his tongue._

_“Orders from on-high,” she said simply._

_“Which on-high?”_

_“Chicago,”_

_He scrutinized her a moment before nodding. “The boss is out, on-high’s got him out in Sacramento,”_

_She knew. She’d sent him on the trip._

_“Pity, I’m only on a stopover,” she said simply, “but he should have left a note?”_

_“Not my department,” the man said, shaking his head. “Talk to Clarisse, she’s in the kitchen,”_

_She nodded and made her way there, and sure enough, a woman was in the kitchen, reading over a newspaper._

_“You must be Maria,”_

_“Maria Santos,” Scylla introduced herself._

_“On-high says you’re here for a few days. Stopover on your way west,”_

_“Yeah,” she said, taking in the room around her._

_“Great. I’ll give you a tour,”_

_And just like that, she was in._

_It was that fucking easy._

_The rest of her mission wouldn’t be, but as she lay in bed that night – disguise burned away and the door to her room tightly locked with work of her own invention – she couldn’t help but feel just the slightest bit proud of her accomplishment. The hardest part was yet to come, but with so many new faces to choose from (and despite how exhausting such work was), she could do just about anything she wanted._

\---

Anacostia kept them for a few hours, going over all of the details, but the few hours felt like far too long. It was more information than Raelle had absorbed in a while, and she could see why they would definitely need a few months to learn everything. June was still a fair ways away, and it slowly dawned on Raelle just how long Scylla and Anacostia had been working together, planning. Still, Anacostia invited them to put their ideas forward, too. After all, they were going to be putting a lot on the line, coming out against the military. 

That night, Raelle lay awake, just…thinking. She didn’t know what the hell she’d just signed herself and her unit up for, but it had her heart beating a little quicker in her chest, her breaths coming in slightly shallow bursts as she slowly processed. She’d signed up to be the face of a revolution that they had no idea would work. The prospect was…terrifying and exhilarating. If they failed…they’d likely be executed. Or sent to die on the front lines, stripped of their medals and badges. They’d be made an example of, quietly executed on a battlefield, and it would be made to look like an accident. 

So…not much different than their possible fates in the military anyway.

And if they succeeded? The thought was…hard to imagine. She almost didn’t dare to entertain the idea. If they succeeded…

And there was a chance, small as it was. There was a chance. Anacostia had told them that the entire plan was designed to egg on the natural march of progress: to speed it from a march to a sprint, or even an avalanche. She’d said the point was to use what already existed for their benefit. It made it almost seem…plausible. 

If they succeeded, they would quite possibly ring in a new era of freedom that witches had…never seen. Or hadn’t seen since the dawn of time, when mankind was still hunter-gathering and when witches were revered for their connection to the Earth. 

The possibility was…scary and far-fetched and overwhelming, and so Raelle lay with her arms tucked behind her head, staring at the ceiling, losing herself in her thoughts.

\---

_It wasn’t hard to learn about her fellow Spree agents. She told them her backstory, entirely fabricated: she was a new recruit, from Maine. She’d been recruited by a Spree agent who had never shown her their real face, but had taught her that neat little shape-shifting trick. She had decided to tell them that she still hadn’t mastered it, and she’d even devised a way to prove that little “fact”, though thankfully, no one asked her to do so._

_In her first house, there was Alba, the woman who had been on the porch. Clarisse, an older woman in her 50s who apparently was second in command. Matt, the man who had been sitting right inside the house when Scylla had entered, and another two or three people who she met as the week progressed._

_In the end, she elected to leave a few days after her arrival, bidding the small cell adieu and moving on to the next Spree house she knew of._

_Scylla feigned a surprise inspection as the reason for her sudden and unannounced arrival, wearing Clarisse’s face. And though the head of her next Spree house seemed skeptical, she let Scylla in nonetheless. Because higher-ups in Spree weren’t to be questioned._

_It took some needling to get names of people higher in the ranks, but she did get them. She knew most Spree agents rarely met other ones from other factions, so as long as she was careful, she could get by on names alone, even if the faces didn’t actually match. Even claiming to be Spree’s versions of a higher-up would get her more access to information, and she knew it was going to be quite a process: to climb the ladder, each rung getting ever-more precarious as she lied her way into an armory._

_In the end, it took months of seamlessly flitting in and out of Spree safe houses, but she finally secured the location of a bomb-making armory, out in the industrial docks of Charleston, Carolina. Scylla was a little relieved, honestly, because it seemed, from observation, to not be a very busy armory._

_She found her opportunity for integration in a young new recruit: Monterey Jackson. Even if the last faction she’d infiltrated hadn’t proudly bragged about their promising new agent, Scylla would have been able to tell who she was just from the way the woman constantly looked over her shoulder as though expecting someone to be following her._

_She was young, but clearly competent, if she had access to the armory. Scylla’s last Spree hosts had been all too happy to tell her about their new recruit: a gifted girl with a mean streak who had been hand-selected by one of the armory cells to help build their bombs. That selection had led to a lot of celebratory drinking from the agent who had recruited Monterey, which had him loose-lipped and all too happy to tell Scylla about exactly what Monterey looked like and where she was staying and when she was expected to start. Which ultimately had led Scylla to where she was, observing the young woman as she walked on the docks towards the hidden armory, managing to look both innocent and entirely too paranoid._

_Scylla approached her, map clutched in her hand._

_“Excuse me!” she called, holding the map tightly to her and trying to look as sheepish as she could._

_Monterey immediately stiffened, and Scylla sent her a timid smile._

_“I am so, so sorry to interrupt you but I am just completely lost, would you mind helping me out?”_

_Monterey pursed her lips, “I’m not sure I’ll be of much help, I just moved here,” she said stiffly._

_Scylla smiled at her, sympathetic. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize! You just looked like you knew where you were going, and I have just had rotten luck getting people to give me directions! It’s just so easy to get lost in a new place, you know?”_

_“Yeah…” Monterey muttered, trying to side-step her._

_Scylla side-stepped with her. “You should do that, you know. Get lost,” she hissed, and Monterey looked entirely too surprised. Scylla nodded, getting close to her, grasping her hands and looking directly into her eyes, “I don’t know where I am, or where I was going,” she said strongly. A Suggestion._

_“I, um. I’m sorry. I’m a bit…lost,” Monterey muttered, shaking her head, and Scylla smiled sympathetically._

_“It’s okay hon, where were you heading?”_

_“Um…I’m…I don’t know,” she said, furrowing her brow._

_Scylla folded the map into Monterey’s grasp, “You can have my map,” she said, and Monterey nodded._

_“I…um, thank you,”_

_“You’re welcome,” Scylla smiled warmly as Monterey turned on her heel, walking in the direction from which she’d come._

_Too fucking easy._

_Scylla pulled out her lighter as she made her way to the docks._

\---

The next morning, Anacostia held onto them until after lunch time, already having food prepared for them by the time they’d walked in in the morning. The War room, as everyone called it, was to essentially become their new home while they learned the plan inside and out, and Raelle found she didn’t mind. It was nice to have a renewed feeling of purpose after quite some time in limbo, and it was nice to have a slight distraction from her tumultuous emotions and the punch of regret and desperation regarding a certain Necro ex-terrorist. 

The reprieve didn’t last long though, Anacostia marching them out of the War Room after lunch and down to the Rec room, calling to Scylla as they entered. 

Raelle felt her cheeks heat up and her heart skip as Scylla looked up from her workstation. She was surrounded by three other people, all of them concentrating on a small contraption held in her hand. It looked like a…a cherry bomb, one half of the sphere held in one of Scylla’s hands, the other half held in the other. One person was pouring black powder into one of the halves, another holding a small bubble of plastic, situating it into the other half, the third person observing.

Scylla raised her eyebrow as they approached, eyeing Anacostia and the Bellweather unit with mostly suspicious curiosity. It was obvious that she noticed their lack of collars, her eyebrows quirking. 

“They’ve agreed,” Anacostia said simply, and Scylla nodded. 

The people around her stepped back, and she sent them a tight smile, putting the two capsules in her hands onto the work bench beside her. 

“Well. Congratulations, ladies,” she said simply, her voice purposefully neutral, face kept carefully blank. The sight didn't sit right with Raelle, and made her uneasy. She didn't like seeing such a...guarded Scylla. Especially knowing that Raelle was the cause of it... 

The three people around Scylla stiffened, but had the sense to pretend like they weren’t there, turning away to continue the work on whatever it was they were doing. “So you’ve briefed them?”

“As much as I can on my part. They’re ready for yours,” Anacostia stated simply. 

Scylla nodded, pushing herself off her stool. She turned back to her workbench, grabbing something, before looking back at them, her expression cool and distant. 

“Follow me, then,” she said cordially, and turned, not even bothering to check to make sure they were following. 

Raelle, Abigail, and Tally exchanged confused looks, before trailing behind, jogging slightly to catch up to Scylla’s retreating back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. Look! Being an American, I know we have a bad rap for being t e r r i b l e about ever changing our minds in the face of facts *side eyes Sandy Hook and other school shootings yet no gun control at the national level* *side eyes the idiots not wearing masks in the middle of a pandemic* *side eyes the people who are still pro-military even after scandals like Abu Ghraib prison and also the aforementioned Camp X-Ray/Guantanamo Bay* But! In all fairness to my fellows, many of us also condemn these things, and like...this is an AU fanfic so we're just gonna pretend that people care. Also though...Raelle being smart and knowing that there had to be more to it than that, and having the same mind as her future gf and knowing they would need something else. 😭😭 We love a parallel.
> 
> Also, you guys do not want to know how much time I spent on the various MFS wiki pages AND the US Revolution Wikipedia page to finally reach the conclusion that 4th of July could plausibly still be a thing in the MFS universe. At first, I was wondering if it was Conscription Day, which I then realized was basically impossible because the Salem Accord happened like 80 or so years before the Revolution. Then I had to read about Alder, and how she brought about an end to the American Revolution in one day in a surprise attack on the British and Hessians, and oh boy did that cause me to go down a rabbit hole. I think it's generally acknowledged that the Revolutionary War started on April 19, 1775 with the shot heard 'round the world at Lexington and Concord, so I was like "Well then, April it is". 
> 
> Exceptttt, Hessian soldiers weren't brought in until later in the war. According to Wikipedia they first arrived on American soil on August 15, 1776, but they did it down in New York, Staten Island to be exact. 
> 
> On top of that, the 4th of July actually pretty much has nothing to do with the actual war, but was when the Declaration of Independence was ratified. So! Since there really is no way of knowing until Eliot confirms something, I concluded that 4th of July does still exist, and it does so because it was the date the Declaration was ratified, even in MFS's alternate historical timeline. My thought process is like, once the declaration was ratified, the British became so enraged that they sent the Hessians to start a war, basically. Once the Hessians and Brits arrived, Alder took them down, ending the war in one day in August. The Treaty of Paris was then signed and ratified on September 3rd, 1776 rather than 1783. But since we're Americans and we don't celebrate September 3rd as our independence day because...reasons, I guess? It's July 4th still. 😂😂
> 
> Also, Scylla finally showing them what she's been up to this whole time. 👀 
> 
> Anyway, let me know your thoughts on there being a 4th of July in canon. I don't remember them mentioning it on the show but then again, I'm due for a rewatch so maybe too much time has passed for me to properly remember? At any rate, I hope you enjoyed and see you all on Halloween for the next one!


	19. Led by the Light of Hellfire and Sparks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween you ghouls and goblins! I hope that you all enjoy this very special holiday, it's definitely my favorite. I'm a born and bred US New Englander so Halloween always has a lot of ~Fall Magic~ for me. I also just have an odd fascination with the Halloween aesthetic so...is that a product of me being from New England, or am I just Like That? The world may never know...
> 
> Anyway, we finally learn the whole plan! Enjoy! :3

_The woman who greeted her when she walked into the armory did so with open arms._

_“Monterey,” she said, a large smile on her face, “Welcome,”_

_Scylla, as Monterey, smiled coolly. “Thank you,”_

_“Before we begin: Second on the right,”_

_“And straight on ‘til morning,” Scylla recited. What a cute little passcode. Not necessarily very secret, but for their purposes, she supposed it would work. It was obvious that Monterey had been the one to choose it. Spree didn’t usually make passphrases so…common._

_Or perhaps it was just common to Scylla, who had read far too many books in her time, and had the memory to have not forgotten most of them._

_The woman’s smile was back and she held out her hand, gesturing into the building._

_Scylla was careful not to brush too close to her, instead opting to look around, stopping just short of passing the woman and waiting for her to show her in, which she thankfully did without question._

_“For today, we just have you observing. We have four makers on site. It can be…a bit of a shock, to see how we create our weapons, but you came very highly recommended. We look forward to working with you,”_

_Scylla nodded, “I’ve heard great things about you, too. It was your idea, the bomb on the cruise ships, right?” a tidbit she’d gleaned from her time spent at various Spree safe houses._

_The woman smiled, “It was my idea, but alas, not my bombs. Those came out of our Vermont plant, before it was discovered,”_

_“Pity,”_

_The woman laughed, “Yes, indeed. But, you win some, you lose some,” she pushed open a door, and Scylla heard the faintest of seeds being used, likely to unlock it. “Now, let me show you where you’ll be working for the next few days…”_

_Scylla followed the woman deep into the warehouse, largely abandoned, until they reached their destination, deep in the belly of the building._

_Four sets of eyes turned to them immediately as they walked in, and Scylla was introduced to everyone. She made note of their names, just in case she needed to infiltrate somewhere else, but with any luck, this visit to an armory would be all she needed._

_Despite the risks, Scylla stayed nearly five days, entirely too committed to learning everything she could about making the Spree bombs. She’d never been trusted with the information, despite her own high accolades from the leader of her cell, and Scylla was a student first, before anything. Learning something new was the epitome of a good time for her, and it was only to her benefit that no one in the armory had spoken to Monterey before. She had some backstory and some memories from Monterey’s old Spree cell, which filled the conversation when the bomb makers weren’t showing her how they used seeds within seeds to manipulate the sound into a bubble of its own, which could then be pushed into a container._

_Any container. They were starting to move away from balloons simply because it was getting harder to get them: the government had cracked down on who could buy balloons and how they could be bought, which was honestly just hilarious to Scylla, but there were plenty of other containers that could be used._

_“If it holds air, it holds a Whisper, and a Whisper, in turn, can grow into a Suggestion. Either we amplify it with our voices-” Scylla shivered, remembering her own use of such work “-or we can have the amplifying seed with it, side-by-side, and one triggers the other when it bursts,” one of the bomb makers explained, Scylla looking over his shoulder as he worked._

_It was…a fascinating process, honestly. Scylla tried to commit as much of it as she could to memory, careful to not make it obvious if she took any notes, and, for her first few days, wondered how she could get a copy of the various schematics she was shown, to help her learn to build her own._

_Which she did, under their tutelage. The Suggestion was something innocuous (she’d decided on “make some tea”) just to test it out, and was pleased when it worked, actually quite well, when unleashed in an empty bottle outside of a civilian’s home._

_Between that, and the few copies, rushed as they were, of the schematics that she managed to create, by the fifth day, she was gone. Spree would, eventually, find the real Monterey, likely still disoriented, and would likely assume someone had gotten her, their cover was blown, and they would likely move the armory, but Scylla didn’t really care. She had what she needed, and so she did what she did best: she disappeared._

_It wasn’t…quite enough. She had to find another armory, though thankfully the process was faster, but the bombs she’d learned to make weren’t quite the right kind. And, well, though the principles, she imaged, were the same or at least quite similar…she couldn’t risk it. They had far too much riding on making non-lethal, non-violent, toothless bombs._

_She sighed quietly to herself as she realized she would have a few more months ahead of her, infiltrating Spree cells and praying to whoever would listen that she didn’t get caught…_

\---

Scylla ended up bringing them to one of the rooms that Raelle had found during her exploring. One of the locked ones. Scylla unlocked it with a sound that Raelle had never heard before, and they all entered once the door opened, Scylla beckoning the unit in first before shutting the door behind her. 

Raelle looked around the room. It looked…much like the hall, honestly. Just blank slabs of concrete, with a low ceiling, though perhaps it was a bit longer than most other of the rooms. Empty, it felt a bit ominous, but at least it was well-lit. There was a black line on the floor ahead of them, which they didn’t approach, though the unit exchanged a confused look until the click of Scylla’s lighter had them all turning to her as she lit the end of what turned out to be a cherry bomb in her hand.

“What-” Abigail shouted, but Scylla leveled her with a contemptuous glare before throwing the cherry bomb. It bounced down the smooth concrete floor a couple of times before coming to rest on the opposite end of the room, and a moment later, it exploded, the sound reverberating in the concrete.

The air rippled around them, and suddenly, Raelle heard it: a Whisper. 

_Conscription is wrong_

Which…well, yes. Obviously. Raelle knew that, and she felt a sudden and strong conviction, which dissipated a moment later, leaving her thoroughly confused. Raelle furrowed her brow, looking at her unit, who looked back at her, just as surprised. What…what was that? 

They turned to Scylla, who flicked her lighter closed and folded her hands behind her back. “That, ladies, is a truth bomb. And it will be the thing that saves everyone from themselves,”

\---

_Scylla hated feeling so exposed: all eyes on her. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention, at least not in front of so many people. She was a social chameleon, not a peacock. It felt odd that everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to say something, waiting for her to address them. She was their leader, and while a part of her had always thought that that power would feel…well, powerful, all she could feel was like they were waiting for a miracle she couldn’t give them._

_Not that she was going to show them that, though. She’d survived nearly a year with Spree, two years as a double-agent for Spree in the Military, more than two years at Cotton Mather Detention Camp, and then several more months as a double-agent infiltrating Spree again. An uncomfortable amount of eyes on her would hardly be enough to break her, but it did make her skin crawl a little._

_“I know you all have been waiting for a long time for answers, and a plan,” Scylla started. She’d arrived the week prior, but had mostly kept to herself after sending word to Anacostia that she’d arrived safely at the compound. She hadn’t exactly made it known just who she was, upon her arrival: she’d been tired and in desperate need of time to herself, to start to really go over all that she’d learned and to figure out a way to pitch everything to their recruits._

_Alas, it hadn’t taken long for people to realize that she’d taken a room that was designated as off-limits to anyone who wasn’t Scylla Ramshorn: the other, mysterious and hitherto absent, co-leader of their little patchwork faction of rebels._

_“And I thank you all for respecting my privacy when I first arrived, to give me time to get myself together. I’m Scylla Ramshorn. I’ve been working with Anacostia for…some time, for this movement. I know Anacostia has mostly spoken with you: if you’ve spoken with either of us, it’ll definitely have been her,”_

_Everyone continued to stare, which did Scylla’s skin-crawling sensation no favors, but she pressed onward. “I want to make it clear that we appreciate you being here. Each and every one of you. Anacostia tells me she has come by when she was able, and I see that you are all already holding things down well. I want to continue like this. I’m here now, but I’m not here to run everything, especially as it seems like you are all doing a solid job yourselves. I’m here just to move the plan forward, together, with you. I want to share with you our progress, and I will be pulling my weight now that I’m here,” she said, gaining some confidence despite the lack of response from her audience._

_“I want to be as transparent as possible. I’ve worked for both sides of this: Spree and Military-”_

_“You were Spree?” someone piped up, and Scylla couldn’t discern the tone. It was…frustrating, as well, to not see the face of who said it._

_“I was,” she confirmed, setting her chin but trying to not make it look defiant, “But I’m not anymore. I was also military. And I’m not, anymore.”_

_“What are you, then?”_

_“I’m one of you,” she said simply, realizing it was true. “I want change, which was why I joined Spree. It was why I tried to tear down the military from the inside. It’s why I’m here, now,”_

_Several people nodded and murmured, and Scylla continued, “I know we have been vague, Anacostia and I, about our plans, but we assure you we are making headway. I have here,” she held up the tightly-rolled schematics, “Plans for a Spree-grade weapon-”_

_“What type of Spree-grade weapon?”_

_Scylla managed to find who asked the question, that time. It helped that he had his hand half-raised in the air._

_Scylla sighed to herself, but she had said she would be honest. “A bomb,” she confessed._

_“Like what they used at the mall?” someone asked, and that got disconcerted murmurs from the crowd._

_The mention of the mall put Scylla even more on edge, but still, she plowed on. “Yes, and no,” she said truthfully. “It’s a…similar idea-”_

_“We won’t build it,” a large, burly, older gentleman said sharply, folding his arms. Scylla recognized him as a civilian called Andre. He’d been one of the first people brave enough to come and knock on her door and inquire as to if she was in the wrong room or if she was their mysterious second leader. “You have civilians among you, we refuse to create-”_

_Scylla pinched the bridge of her nose, “We are not using it to kill civilians! We are not Spree!” she reminded them, forcing herself to take in a breath, to remain calm. “Some people here are ex-Spree. Some, ex-military, conscription Dodgers, and civilians,” Scylla nodded at Andre, “We see you, and that you are fighting for us. For witches. You are here because you believe in us, and so, we believe in you.” It hurt, almost, to say those words. She nearly blanched, but held it in: this was important. This had been her own damn idea. This was her reckoning. “This bomb isn’t going to be to kill civilians. It will be to show everyone the truth,”_

_That got another round of murmurs. “I’m working on the modifications, to create this new version of the bomb, and I will need help building and testing it once it’s complete. I will ask for volunteers. For now, Anacostia continues gathering intel for us about the military, and I have a wealth of information about Spree. Between us, and you all, we will have no shortage of truths for these bombs. Building them will take time, but we have that. What we do need…and what I’d like for any of you to help think of, is how we can get these bombs out into the country. This needs to be large-scale. Larger than anything Spree has attempted. Larger than anything the military can fathom. We need to take this to the entire nation. I need you to help me figure out how,”_

_Silence greeted her, at first, but slowly, people started nodding, and murmuring, and hands started to raise, and Scylla found herself nodding to one of the hands._

_The round of questions were exhausting, but needed. The people in their compound didn’t know her. They knew Anacostia, they had likely seen and spoken with her, however indirectly, at some point, but Scylla was going to be the new face of their movement, until Anacostia could come join them long-term, so she didn’t bother filtering questions, answering them as honestly as she could (or dared), though careful to not reveal anything that may hint to her past actions._

_By the end of it, she found herself sat on the floor, surrounded not by strangers, but by comrades, and it felt…like a whispered promise._

\---

Fireworks. 

They were making…fireworks. Their weapon of choice, their date of choice…it made so much fucking sense. It almost blew Raelle’s mind, when Scylla had revealed to them the true extent of the plan. 

Scylla and Anacostia had turned the planning over to the people in the compound and, according to Scylla, they had come back with fucking fireworks. It was so simple, so easy, so…perfect. Fireworks were somewhat easy to make, relatively low-risk, in shells that could carry plenty of room for Whispers - magical suggestions preserved in air and released onto the unsuspecting populace. 

It was…perfect in its simplicity, and awe-inspiring in its ambitious scale. Which was nation-wide. It almost hurt Raelle’s brain to even fathom having thought of such a genius plan. If successful, it would…it would be the largest attack, ever, on US soil, using such a weapon. A Spree-grade weapon. Taken to the masses, not to kill them…but to inform them. To make them see, to help them understand the truth in the statements that the Bellweather unit were to expose on national television, around the same time. The goal was to have fireworks at every single major display in the country. Between live spectators, those in range of the sound of the explosions, and those watching television…they could reach well over half the country in one go. 

But they hadn’t even stopped there. Big fireworks weren’t enough, no. Major displays weren’t enough. Spree wasn’t a large organization, so Scylla had thought small, too. Cherry bombs in local stores. Roman candles shot off in back yards. Sparklers in driveways. Flashbangs in fire pits. They were creating an armory, and they had been doing so for months, all available hands that were willing to, were working on the project. The rooms that were sealed, with the exception of the test room Scylla had brought them to, were full of finished munitions. Thousands upon thousands of fireworks. 

And hundreds upon hundreds of civilians, both on the compound and around the country, prepared to distribute them in time for their use around the nation on the Fourth of July. 

All told, if successful…the effect would be nationwide, coordinated, and immediate. 

Anacostia hadn’t been lying, when she said they should be thankful Scylla was on their side. Had she thought of such an attack while she was with Spree…had she turned people to Spree’s cause, rather than the one she had, who knew the sheer amount of chaos she could have created? 

It stuck with Raelle well beyond Scylla finally detailing all of this to a speechless Bellweather unit. It stuck with her well beyond meeting the entire team that would be with them at Fort Salem, playing the part of traumatized POWs. It stuck with her through her first read through of that entirely too thick folder, and it stuck with her as she tried to sleep at night. It was…brilliant, and terrifying, and it made her heart flutter in her chest because despite herself, she was fucking impressed. 

Scylla hadn’t thought up all of it, of course. She was quick to give credit to everyone in the bunker for collectively seeing the opportunity of fireworks and Fourth of July celebrations, and credited them with being so open to the idea of using a weapon used by Spree (bastardized as it was). 

The trust that showed, from both sides…from both parties, between Scylla and everyone else, and everyone else and Scylla, was so close to unfathomable that it was overwhelming, and thinking about it nearly brought tears to Raelle’s eyes, because it was so hard to believe. They had truly worked towards the impossible, and they were this close to touching it, and oh, how misguided Raelle had been. How steeped in fear of what had been, that she at first had not seen, nor wanted to see, what had changed. 

Everything. Everything had changed. 

And that was the most exhilarating of all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀👀👀 Raelle, bb...yes. Yyaaassss. Everything /has/ changed. 😭 And not to quote Robert Frost too hard up in this fic, but that will make all the difference. ;)
> 
> Also, finally, the full plan is revealed! Raelle's impressed despite herself, and wait, is that...hope?? She's seeing, finally, the true extent that Scylla has gone to to realize all of this, and we love to see it. 
> 
> Anyway, that's it for now! Though who knows what mystical Samhain has planned for us... 👀 I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, drop a line if you're just as pleasantly surprised as Raelle at hearing about fireworks and truth bombs. And, of course, have an excellent Halloween if you're choosing to celebrate! Don't let Miss 'Rona get you down, pumpkins can be carved regardless of her presence!


	20. The Weight of Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, now. I know it's not technically Halloween anymore, but it IS All Saint's Day, and, if you happen to be from Mexico, it is also Día de los Muertos. Samhain itself used to have festivities that could last up to a week (according to Wikipedia, anyway), so I don't see why we can't have two days of celebration. ;) 
> 
> So! Another double-feature (sort of) for you, and I think (I hope) you guys will like this one. If you've clicked on this fic on November 1st or after, but didn't click on it before that date: maybe make sure to go back and read Chapter 19 first! There is some important information in that one. Don't worry, this chapter will still be here when you're done! 
> 
> Also, when the chapter title is the same as the fic, you know it's an important chapter. 👀
> 
> Strap in, y'all. I'm not saying I cried writing this chapter but I am saying I hope it elicits a lot of strong emotions in the lot of you like it did to me while I wrote it.

_Andre sat himself opposite Scylla at the workbench, placing a cup of coffee in front of his section and handing Scylla a plate of what appeared to be scrambled eggs._

_She looked up from the shell she was working on to raise an eyebrow._

_Andre smiled. “’Morning,” he greeted, “Noticed you’re not big on breakfast, but it’s the most important meal of the day. Don’t know if you’re hungry, but Annette did one of those seedling-things on it, so it’s supposed to keep them warm. Just don’t get gun powder in ‘em,” he joked._

_Scylla allowed her mouth to tick up into a half-smile. Andre was…Andre was nice. There was no other way to put it. He was large, and intimidating because of his size and his size alone, but he was a good man. Quiet. Sturdy. He helped move the crates of gunpowder and pellets. He held all the bags when they got too heavy during foraging missions. He was older, late forties, if Scylla had to guess, maybe early fifties. He had wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. In another life, Scylla could have easily let herself be lulled by his odd charm. The charm of a lovable puppy._

_The love of a father figure._

_But she wasn’t exactly big on trusting civilians, even though adding them had been her idea. She’d had to remind herself more than once that they were there for a reason: they believed in witch liberation, too._

_Sometimes, that still felt too good to be true. And if it was true, it still led her to the uncomfortable conclusion: if there were civilians who wanted witches to be free…why didn’t they speak out? Why didn’t they hold their peers accountable? It made it hard to trust, and so at first, she hadn’t. But time, like the tides, had slowly worn her down. Now, she could begrudgingly admit that Andre was nice. He was more than nice. He was a teddy bear. Were he magical folk, Scylla knew she would consider him…a friend, almost._

_As it were, he’d grown on her, and Scylla had let him, because it was nice to have an almost-friend._

_She smiled despite herself, “I’ll do my best,”_

_Andre nodded, putting the eggs off to the side a little bit, and noticeably, on his workstation rather than Scylla’s. He knew she would forget about them, and that simultaneously annoyed her and had her smiling just a little more._

_She hid it well though, continuing to tinker with the shell in her hands, trying to situate the thin metal straw they’d been using to push the Whispers into the small compartments._

_They worked mostly in silence, and Scylla did force herself to stop in order to eat the eggs that Andre had made her, and he smiled appreciatively. They’d sort of formed this…uneasy bond, where Scylla pretended she didn’t appreciate things Andre did, and Andre knew she secretly was grateful._

_“You know,” he said, after Scylla had returned back to work, trying to push the gunpowder into the second compartment of her shell. She looked up at him to acknowledge that she was listening, before continuing on her task._

_“I, um…I was hesitant, at first, about all of this,”_

_Scylla stopped working, raising an eyebrow at Andre. She fought down the unsurprised scowl she could feel threatening to break through – because old habits died hard – and instead forced a small, questioning frown._

_He nodded, sheepish. “I know, I shouldn’t say that. But I was. This bomb, it’s just…it hits home. My daughter, she uh…she died in the mall attack,”_

_Scylla stiffened as his words hit her. Of…of all of the things she had thought Andre was going to say, that had not been one of them..._

_“Spree used a bomb like this, so when you said that we were going to make one…I hesitated, y’know?”_

_Scylla stared at him, unsure how to react, entirely frozen. He…his daughter…she had murdered his daughter. And he didn’t even know it…_

_He seemed to mistake her shock – wide eyes, halted hands – for sympathy, and he nodded, “I know. It’s crazy. I…if you had told me that some five-odd years down the line, I’d be working side by side with ex-Spree members…that I’d be being led in a movement by one, I would have strangled you,” he sighed, “I was…I was devastated, you know? When I learned about the attack, but also when I realized she was there…she’d been so full of life and promise, and suddenly I didn’t have her anymore. I wanted revenge. I was so…angry. I hated them: Spree. I hated everything they stood for. Everything you stood for, I guess, since you were Spree once, too. I hated what you, or I guess, what they, did there, and I hated that witches could turn around and do that to the people they’re supposed to protect, you know?”_

_Scylla clenched her jaw, adrenaline spiking in her veins._ You. You, you, you _, he kept saying, and though she knew he meant Spree as a collective – a collective she had formed a part of – she couldn’t stop the bile from rising in her throat, because Spree had thought of the attack, yes. But it had been her. She had carried it out._

_She had done that, and the constant “you” felt like a knife to the gut._

_“I wanted to know that they caught the person who did it, because I wanted justice. I would have killed her myself, I think, at the time. I got so obsessed that I started digging into Spree, just to see what I could find. Just to see if some modicum of justice had been, or could be, served. I just wanted to retaliate against…against her, against them. But I just…the more I looked into them, the more I started to sort of…see them, you know? I know that sounds dumb,” Andre looked down at his own project, and he fiddled with it for a moment before he continued, “But the more I looked, the more I started to sort of…understand, I guess. I started putting myself in their shoes. In your shoes, I guess,”_

_Oh, he didn’t know how right he was…_

_Scylla could feel the sting in her eyes of tears, and she bit the inside of her cheek, which didn’t help at all, the pain making her eyes water all the more._

_“In the end I realized that…that I couldn’t blame them, you know? That I couldn’t blame you guys, in Spree. If it had been my daughter…if she had been born a witch, and forced to serve…I would have been just as devastated by her death in war, as I was by her death in that mall. Because that’s what’s happening, isn’t it? You’re being sent to serve and there’s no guarantee you’ll come back. My daughter didn’t choose to be in that attack at the mall. You don’t have a choice to be in a warzone, or in a combat area. I just…I wouldn’t want that, for her. I don’t want that for any of you,”_

_It felt like an absolute punch to the gut, except it hurt so much more. The wind entirely escaped from Scylla’s lungs, her ribcage suddenly too tight, and she realized she couldn’t breathe. It felt like she was being crushed under a weight she hadn’t even known she was carrying._

_“I did a lot of soul searching, then. And I realized…it’s wrong. Conscription is wrong. I may not agree with how Spree gets their message out, but they’re right. I never found out what happened to the agent who took my daughter’s life, along with the lives of so many other people, but…I’ve realized she was so, so misguided in her pain, and I understand that, because so was I. It took me a long time, but… I forgave her. She did what she thought she had to do, and I can’t fault her for that-”_

_The room was suddenly too small and Scylla realized she genuinely couldn’t suck in a breath. She tried to do so and it got stuck, and the world around her blurred and she was too hot and too cold, and Andre was still talking and she couldn’t hear him over the frenzied hammering of her heart, the desperation with which every attempt to breathe was met with the physical weight of what she’d done._

_“Sorry, I-” Scylla managed to choke out, and pushed away from her workbench with too much force, knocking over her seat. Her vision was blurring and she sucked in a ragged, forced breath. Turning, she blindly fled the Rec room, relying entirely on instinct to navigate, the tears welling in her eyes and her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts until she found a door that was half-open, and she barreled into the darkness of the unlit room within, shutting the door behind her and sealing it as best as she could, her hands shaking as she traced a rune over the cool metal before falling back onto it and sliding down it, landing in a heap on the floor and releasing a sob that racked her whole body._

_Once it started, it didn’t stop, and she hugged her knees close as she fell apart._

_At some point, the door shook, only to be forced open not long after, but as quickly as it was opened, it was shut. Scylla didn’t even bother to look up, only vaguely aware of another person cursing and then huddling down, encircling her in their arms and holding her tight and close as another round of sobs started._

_“Shh, shh, I’ve got you,” Anacostia whispered, and Scylla grabbed her forearm and found herself incapable of doing anything other than crying harder._

\---

It took her a while of wandering the halls after another exhaustive day of reading and scheming and learning, but Raelle finally found the door she was looking for. It was unassuming, like most of the doors, and she’d had to ask a few people where it was, because she’d never thought to ask (nor had she wanted to think about why she would ask). But she found it, and as soon as she stopped in front of it, she felt her palms start to sweat, her heartrate kick up, and she swallowed, raising her hand to knock. 

It took a moment, but the sight that greeted her was worth it: Scylla, in a plain navy-blue t-shirt, hair loose, eyes curious and guarded as she took in who had knocked.

“Raelle,” Scylla said, with some confusion and a hint of defensiveness. 

“Can…can I come in?” she asked, and Scylla looked unsure but stepped aside anyway, taking the door with her and letting Raelle pass. Raelle entered, looking around the room, taking it all in. It was plain, like the one she and her unit were sharing, though it notably had a desk and a chair, along with papers stuck all over the wall near said desk. Otherwise, there were a few pictures over her mattress, which was on the floor just like theirs, and a stack of books and rolls of paper on the opposite corner. Raelle noticed a small collection of bird and small animal skulls on the desk, which seemed…fitting. 

Scylla closed the door behind her with a quiet click. 

“How can I help you?” Scylla asked, her voice too formal. 

Raelle turned to look at her. Scylla’s face was purposefully blank, wiped of emotions that danced, veiled as they were, in her eyes. 

Raelle suddenly felt infinitely more nervous than she had in the hall. She laced her fingers together in front of her, fidgeting with the ring on her pointer. “I just…I wanted to apologize,”

That got the slightest tick of an eyebrow, Scylla curious despite herself. 

Raelle nodded, swallowing, but forcing herself to continue. “I’m sorry. For how I’ve been acting, with you. For how I acted the other day. I was just…I was surprised, that’s all. I don’t think I’ve stopped being surprised since I got here…” Raelle said honestly, letting out a shaky breath. “I just…I didn’t know what to think. The last time I saw you…was in a prison. And you told me that you thought mass murder was a necessary evil. You told me that you would do it again. And in the same sentence, you told me that you regretted it, but I had no way to know that was true. Because the last time I saw you, Scylla,” she tilted her head, “You were a terrorist. As a general rule…I don’t associate with terrorists, let alone-” Raelle choked on her words. Let alone…what? Sympathize with them? Listen to them? Find herself falling for them…

Raelle took a deep breath, pushing the thought down, “Let alone forge connections with them. But, I’ll admit that, when I first got here…that was all I could see of you. I was so busy focusing on who you were…who you had been. On everything that you’d done, and who I thought you were, that…I didn’t see,” she shook her head, “I wasn’t willing to see, that you’re…different. You’re not who you were when I met you in that cell. And you’re certainly not who you were when you…well,” Raelle looked away, unable to hold Scylla’s guarded gaze. “I didn’t know how much you’d changed,”

She heard Scylla sigh, “You didn’t give me much of a chance to show you,”

Raelle nodded. “I know. And I’m sorry for that, too.” She looked back at Scylla, who crossed her arms, her brow furrowed if only just, but with her expression still closed-off. 

Scylla clenched her jaw, but at least relaxed the rest of her body, her shoulders losing some of their tension. “You don’t have to apologize, Raelle,” she said finally, sounding almost…defeated. “I couldn’t exactly explain all of this to you in my cell, back at Cotton Mather. I had a part to play. So it makes sense…” she swallowed, shaking her head as though resetting her thoughts.

With a deep breath, and she continued: “It makes sense that that's all you could see. What I did was…horrible. I face that fact every single time I wake up. It’s something I will have to do the rest of my life, and I’ve accepted that. I’ve also accepted…that that means there will be people who hate me, rightfully, for what I’ve done, even if they never learned that I did it. That some people may be able to look past it, and some may not, and it’s not up to me to decide for them. I…” she shook her head and let out a defeated laugh, “I’d hoped, stupidly, that you would be one of the ones to see beyond what I did, to see what I’m trying to do. I hoped…I thought, you understood,” she shook her head again to herself, looking discouraged. 

“But I get it,” she shrugged, and in that moment, it looked like her crossed arms were more to hug herself: to protect herself from their conversation, but she plowed on. “Mass-murder isn’t something I should just ask you to get over, or to look beyond, no matter what I thought. I know the rest of my life will be an uphill battle of trying to be better than I was the day before. And I know there will be days where I fail. And it’s not your fault that you can’t move on from my past actions, and I have no right to ask you to,”

She blinked, and her façade broke, if only just. Tears were brimming in her eyes again, and the sight twisted something in Raelle, but she couldn’t move. Scylla blinked a few more times, looking up to try to prevent the tears from falling. 

“I just…it sucks. Because I really…I like you,” Scylla sighed heavily. “I have…strong feelings for you, and I think in a way, I always have. And I thought that maybe…I wasn’t alone in this. In these feelings. In this…pull, to you. I thought..." she shook her head. "It doesn't matter, now. Clearly, I was misreading things. But...but, for me, from the moment you walked into my life, you were a breath of fresh air. I meant it when I said that were you someone special, in Cotton Mather."

Raelle tried not to shiver at the mention of the prison.

“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d let you get to me, in that place. But…you managed to do it, somehow. Wormed your way into my head and I haven’t been able to get you out. That’s what I meant, when I said you were more powerful than you realized. I mean…I was already…I’d already been working with Anacostia for years, by then. I’d already been planning the revolution for ages. I’d already resolved to do better. I’d already realized how wrong I was, no matter how right my cause. But you…you pushed me over this precipice I didn’t even realize I’d been standing on. You made me realize that I actually could _be_ better. That despite all of this…darkness, in me…there was another way forward. Another way to be. That there was still someone good in the world that could look at the face of a monster and see…a damaged person. And that...that, is a power beyond measure.”

She swallowed thickly, clenching her jaw once more. “I meant it, you know? When I said that we both left that prison as different people. You showed me that there was kindness, even in the darkest of places, and I started to find a willingness to see it, more and more, in myself. More than that…you made me realize that, more than anything…kindness is a choice. Goodness, is a choice. 

“You never had to trust me, in Cotton Mather. You had nothing to gain by doing so. Quite the opposite, actually: you had everything to lose by talking to me, listening to me. You still spoke to me after I traumatized you in interrogation, and you even forgave me, somehow. You smuggled in a book for me. Your punishment could have been-” Scylla choked on her words, as though the very thought of Raelle being punished put her in physical pain, “But you did it all, anyway. You choose to be good to people, Raelle – you chose to do so with me. You understand people in a way that I have never been able to, and it’s…it’s amazing,” Scylla shook her head, letting out a small huff that almost sounded like a laugh. 

“ _You’re_ amazing. Special. You _choose_ to see someone’s humanity, in a way that I just…can’t. That I couldn’t. Because I’ve always only ever seen the worst of people, my whole life. It’s all people have ever shown me. And I never chose to see beyond that because I had no reason to. And you made me realize…there is no reason, other than human dignity. Goodness. Because that’s exactly what you showed me. Because that's exactly what you are: good.

“No one has ever done what you did for me without expecting something from me in return. No one has ever taken the time to actually look at me and realize who I was. Even my parents…they loved me, but I know they could have never fathomed how much…anger, I had in me. How much hatred I still harbor, even if I’m trying to unlearn it. Even Anacostia, to an extent…I mean, she worked with me, she trusts me, but she doesn’t see…me. Not really. No one has chosen to actually look at me. All of me: the bad and the worse and what little good remains. Except you,” she let out a self-depreciating laugh, “Hard not to fall for someone like that,”

Scylla sent Raelle a sad smile, “So, in the end, even if you can’t – even if you can’t see me as anything other than a terrorist, just know that…you made me realize I could be so much more. That I had to choose to be so much more, and that that choice wouldn’t be for nothing, even if it felt like it. For that,” she shrugged, “You’ll always be special to me,”

And goddess, that broke her, really. Raelle couldn’t hold back anymore, desperation swelling in her chest at the resigned, saddened woman before her. Tears sprang into her eyes and before she could even second-guess the impulse, she was across the room in two steps, the shock registering in Scylla’s eyes as Raelle cupped her face and kissed her. 

It was…goddess. It was…everything, and also nothing, like she thought it would be. Scylla’s lips were pliant, accepting the kiss after a startled freeze. She reached up not a moment later and threaded her fingers in Raelle’s hair as best she could given the braids, pulling her closer, and Raelle felt a suddenly dampness on her thumbs where she held Scylla’s face in her hands.

She pulled away, halting the kiss, if only just, letting out a quiet, shaky breath and pressing her forehead to Scylla’s. She opened her eyes to see Scylla’s beautiful, sharp blue ones, brimming with tears that fell quietly. Unceremoniously. 

Scylla looked…shocked. Scared. Afraid to hope. 

Vulnerable. 

Raelle felt her heart skip a beat. Something…something ached within her, but it didn’t feel…it didn’t feel wrong. Quite the contrary…it felt right. She felt like she was bursting, relief and desperation and hunger welling within her, her eyes burning with her own unshed tears as she gently started stroking Scylla’s cheeks with her thumbs, wiping the tears away.

Fuck. Fuck, Scylla was…Scylla was beautiful. Her eyes flicked down to Raelle’s lips and then back to her eyes, questioning. If it was real. If she was dreaming. If Raelle was going to pull away…

Raelle felt Scylla’s shaky breaths against her cheeks. She could feel Scylla’s chest, rising and falling, the questions all dancing in her eyes, and Raelle couldn’t answer them. She couldn’t answer them, but she couldn’t stand to see them: couldn’t stand to see the doubts, the fears. The pain. Scylla had been in pain her whole life, and the realization ached.

She couldn’t answer the questions, no. But she could, in that moment, assuage the doubts (her own included). She did the only thing that she could think to do. 

Raelle kissed her again, Scylla tenderly reciprocating, her fingers gentle as they fell from Raelle’s hair, tracing down her jaw line.

Raelle could feel her heart positively singing in her chest, all too aware of the heat starting to surge through her as Scylla tentatively looped her arms around Raelle’s waist and tugged, as though trying to get her impossibly, physically closer. 

Months and months of built-up what-ifs, days of having Scylla right at her fingertips and yet so far away…it all came to the surface and she felt overwhelmed, especially as Scylla suddenly bit at Raelle’s bottom lip and goddess, was it hot in there all of a sudden??

Scylla gently bit her lip again, tugging and then soothing the nip a moment later with her tongue, and, fuck. Raelle couldn’t help the small moan that escaped her at that, which seemed to spur Scylla on, unwinding her arms and firmly grabbing Raelle right at her hip bones, thumbs tracing their arcs through her shirt and that really was not helping-

A shudder went through her when one of Scylla’s thumbs slipped under her shirt as she continued tracing her hip, as though asking permission, and goddess, Raelle was going to give it to her. 

She tried to put that into the kiss, surging forward with more force and dropping her own hands to push under Scylla’s shirt, which elicited a gasp that had heat shooting through Raelle, awakening a deep longing she had somehow managed to keep at bay for so long. And Raelle knew, in that moment…if they were going to stop, it would have to be then. It would just have to be, because...

Because, fuck. She was powerless against the rush of emotions in her body, the incessant influx of hunger and hormones and the feel of Scylla pressed against her, the heat that was shooting through her with every stroke of Scylla’s thumbs and with the feel of gooseflesh where her hands ran up Scylla’s sides, and with every tentative, gentle prod of Scylla’s tongue against Raelle’s lips or in her mouth. 

Raelle was a fucking goner, and she knew it. 

She’d always known it. 

And so it was stop, or surrender.

But she didn’t want to stop, an aching pit of desperation and elation opening within her, made even more unbearable as Scylla sighed into their kiss, tugging a bit more insistently at Raelle’s hips as though trying to pull her even closer. 

And, goddess, it seemed Scylla certainly didn’t want to stop either... 

Raelle wasn’t sure who started pulling them towards the bed: if it was Scylla, stepping backwards, or Raelle, pushing forward, driven by the unbridled emotions wreaking havoc on her body, making it hum as Scylla dropped some of her careful ministrations in favor of pushing both of her hands under Raelle’s shirt, palms sliding, tantalizing, along Raelle’s stomach before settling on her sides once again. Raelle couldn’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escaped her as Scylla dug her nails into the flesh she found there. 

Scylla pulled away, hands firm on Raelle’s hips, short nails sharp, but not in an unwelcome way. Her chest heaved, even pressed as it was to Raelle’s front, and Raelle could feel someone’s heart – Scylla’s or her own, she wasn’t sure – and Scylla gave Raelle a questioning but smoldering look, a small, tentative smile - nearly a smirk - playing on her lips. Goddess, she knew exactly what she was doing to Raelle, but still, there was a hesitation in her expression. A question. Asking Raelle if this was actually what she wanted, despite the smirk suggesting she already knew the answer.

"Raelle-" she whispered, voice serious and leaden with that same question. Raelle couldn’t stand it anymore, surging forward and capturing Scylla’s lips once more, mouth hot, desperation welling within her to show Scylla just how badly she wanted her.

Scylla was the one who pulled Raelle down onto the bed, her hands greedily slipping higher and higher under Raelle’s shirt as Raelle straddled her, losing some of the tenderness they’d had in favor of feverish want. Raelle reveled in the feel of Scylla’s fingers, demanding as they were to explore every inch of skin she exposed as she worked Raelle’s shirt up her torso and then over her head and off her body entirely. She reveled in the breathy gasps Scylla released as Raelle traced kisses down her neck, and in the sounds Scylla made as she flipped them over, pressing her hips into Raelle’s and kissing her hotly, full of need. 

And Raelle gave in. How could she not? She gave in to the desires she’d been so long denying: to the primal desperation of needing to feel skin on skin, returning the favor and pulling Scylla’s shirt off with a demanding grunt that had Scylla breathily laughing in her ear, which just served to turn her on more, flipping them over with a bit more force than intended, and biting down on Scylla’s pulse point, practically groaning in frustration as Scylla arched into her and grabbed her hair, tugging. She gave in to the connection she shared with Scylla, finally allowing herself to indulge entirely in it in such an intimate and needed way. 

She was done running from it. As Scylla’s hands became braver and more incessant on stripping Raelle of every last article of clothing, Raelle reciprocated, making quick work of what little stood between them and finally, properly feeling Scylla against her. Between breathy moans and hot, exploratory kisses, and rough and desperate hands, Raelle ran her fingers down Scylla’s body until she found her, wet and wanting and ready. And as Raelle slid her fingers inside of her - Scylla digging her nails into her back and gasping in her ear - Raelle finally gave in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took you long enough, Raelle! 
> 
> Alas, I am no smut writer (though there are plenty of amazing smut authors with amazing smut fics that you should definitely be checking out if you haven't already!) but let's be real: the sexual chemistry between these two is way too much for them to not have sex when Raelle finally lets herself feel all her Feels, those are just facts. *shrug* Though I doubt too many of you will be upset about it... ;)
> 
> Anyway, I sincerely hope it was worth the slow burn wait. Genuinely, this may be one of my favorites, if not my favorite, chapter in the whole fic. Those emotions man. Powerful stuff to write. Though it also went through it's fair share of reworking, I wouldn't say this chapter gave me (too much) trouble. I hope you guys liked it as much as I loved writing it. Also, I promise I'm done with torturing Scylla with the weight of her actions, beyond the normal trajectory of processing trauma. Poor bb Necro has been through it. But she finally has Raelle entirely on her side! We love to see it.
> 
> And yeah, with that! The slow burn comes to an end, finally! Hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you guys for the next one! :)


	21. Ardor of Time and Wind of Change: Raging Inferno, Dance in the Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Thank you for the wonderful comments on the last chapter, genuinely I'm so happy to read that the scenes had their intended effect (tearing out hearts and then gently putting them back, respectively) and that the slow burn felt worth it. Also glad I wasn't the only person near someone who was cutting onions during those emotional parts...
> 
> Anyway, the fic goes on! I hope you are all taking care of yourselves in this very trying time, and I hope this update will be a welcome distraction, however temporary.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Anacostia held her well into the night, but she never once asked Scylla to explain, and Scylla found that she didn’t have the energy to speak. She stayed in Anacostia’s embrace until Anacostia whispered that she was going to get them some water, and she’d be back. Scylla had nodded numbly, and she must have fallen asleep, because when she next awoke, she was in Anacostia’s room, with water by the bed. Scylla drank all of it and then fell asleep for another long while._

_When she saw Andre again, he didn’t say anything, and she found herself staring at him until finally, he looked up at her._

_She could never tell him, she knew. She didn’t trust his forgiveness to hold so fast in the face of the terrorist who had killed his daughter, along with so many others. She didn’t expect him to keep his cool if he found out, and she knew that he would have every right to change his mind. But he had chosen to try to understand her, and that was more than she had thought civilians truly capable of, so she said the only words she could._

_“I’m sorry,”_

_She wasn’t sure she had ever spoken words more sincere in her entire life, and she was sure he wouldn’t ever fully grasp the depth of her true regret._

_He sent her a small, sad smile._

_“Thank you,”_

\---

Raelle gently played with Scylla’s hair, letting her fingers run through it. She held Scylla close, her breathing rhythmic against the side of Raelle’s neck, arm looped around Raelle’s middle, and one of her legs draped over Raelle’s. 

Raelle felt…calm. Elated. Satiated. Tired. But in a good way. And goddess it felt…odd. But good, to have Scylla in her arms. She…certainly hadn’t come to Scylla’s room with the intention of having sex with her, but…she certainly wasn’t going to complain. They still had a lot they needed to talk about, but for a moment…she could just enjoy the strong beat of Scylla’s heart, the warmth of her body, the tickle of her breath, and the remaining feelings of their tryst. The pleasant pulsing in her back where Scylla had dug her nails in deep while Raelle moved inside of her. The wet feel of Scylla’s tongue on her thighs and between her legs. 

The thought made her shiver, if only just, and she turned to the side to look at Scylla: beautiful and changed, and fighting for a better life for witchkind. 

Raelle kissed Scylla’s forehead, which made her stir. 

“Is this how you always apologize?” Scylla asked, not opening her eyes, voice rough from sleep. 

Raelle chuckled, “Depends on the argument,” she murmured, earning a giggle from Scylla. 

“Mmm I’ll have to figure out which ones get this response. For science,” she buried her face into Raelle’s neck.

“For science,” Raelle agreed, trying to make her words sound serious. 

Scylla snorted. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Raelle quirked an eyebrow, “For the orgasm? You’re welcome,”

Scylla nuzzled still further. “No. I mean, yes, for that too. But no. Thank you for…giving me a chance,”

Raelle hummed in response, unsure how to answer. How serious did she want to get, after finally caving into her desires?

Fuck it. 

“You’ve been stuck in my head since Cotton Mather,” Raelle confessed in a whisper, continuing to stroke Scylla’s hair. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to acknowledge it. I kept looking for excuses to just…pretend that there was nothing here. But…you were all I could think about, after I left. Everything you said. How right you were, despite what you’d done. How…steadfast you were. So convinced. So…righteous, in your cause,”

Scylla started stroking Raelle’s torso, hand splayed and situated right over her ribs, thumb stroking right below her breast. Raelle sighed, enjoying the sensation before continuing. “I don’t know how I feel, about this. But I know that…that I have strong feelings for you, too.” Raelle said, finally speaking the truth out loud, fear gripping her for only a moment at being too honest. 

Scylla nodded as best she could, considering her position. “You don’t have to suddenly know everything right now, Raelle. I’m not expecting everything to just be easy all of a sudden. But at least we can work frustrations out this way,” she said, cheeky. 

Raelle rolled her eyes. 

Scylla stopped her strokes, “I’m serious, Raelle,” she finally pulled herself out of the crook of Raelle’s neck, propping herself up on her elbow and looking at her, her gaze soft and fond, but serious. “We have time to figure this out. To figure us out. For now, just…enjoy this, okay? For now just...let yourself live a little.” The "Let me enjoy this" went unsaid, but Raelle heard it in the quiet plea of Scylla's voice.

Raelle swallowed, but nodded. Scylla bent down and kissed her, and a pit of longing opened up within her that Scylla was all too happy to indulge, pulling Raelle closer as Raelle deepened the kiss.

\---

_Scylla took a deep breath, tapping her foot. She was…nervous. They were about to attempt to pull off one of the riskiest missions yet, and she was at the center of it. Her and Anacostia, just as they’d started._

_She traced the S onto her palm, feeling it tingle as the magic (hopefully) connected with Raelle. She always felt better, doing that. It was oddly soothing. She was permanently connected to the woman who had inadvertently solidified her resolve, who had sparked hope when she and Anacostia had started to run low on it. The woman who, if they were lucky…would help start a revolution._

_And they were going to be reunited. Soon. Anacostia had finally figured out a way to get the Bellweather unit to the compound, and with their stockpile of weapons growing by the day…it was time. It was time to marry both sides of their plan, to bring it all together, and to, with any luck…unleash it. They still had much to do: more bombs to make, and a notoriously stubborn unit to convince to join their cause. If they didn’t…Scylla didn’t want to think about it. Not even touching on how absolutely heartbroken she would be, facing the very real possibility of Raelle’s rejection - not even thinking to her emotions - so much work would have been for naught, not to mention the absolutely draining process of memory work. It’d honestly be easier to kill them, but Scylla did not want to fathom an Earth on which Raelle Collar did not exist._

_It would be a dark Earth indeed._

_Still. She had faith, in Raelle. In that beautiful Specialist who had, without realizing it, become one of the brightest spots in Scylla's life._

_She traced her palm again as Anacostia finally entered the room in which she’d had Scylla awaiting further instruction. She’d been smuggled onto a military compound in pilot’s gear – which they’d been doing on and off for a while, to make sure Scylla would be able to at least fly the damn helicopter to where she would then have to destroy it – and Anacostia had already briefed her on the plan. It was…a little messy, to have to get the unit out to the middle of nowhere, sabotage the helicopter’s systems, and then spend days disguising herself, and she wasn’t sure how well she’d do at pretending to be anyone but Scylla, with Raelle so close to her._

_But the destroyed helicopter was a good idea. The Army would find the wreck and believe everyone in it dead, which would be quietly confirmed by Berg, an ally who Anacostia had recruited early on and who would be the one writing up the incident report. The area would maybe be swept, but with the block that Scylla would be putting in place once she hit the ground, they wouldn’t be able to find any traces of work that the Bellweather unit might use. It wasn’t a fool-proof plan, but it was a good one, if nothing else._

_All that was left…was her disguise. Which was what she’d been sitting and impatiently waiting for._

_Anacostia locked the door behind her and Scylla straightened in the chair she’d been put into some time ago._

_“You have thirty minutes before they expect you out there for helicopter inspection,”_

_Scylla accepted the file and took a look at the photo: Porter._

_Maybe it was sick, for her to have requested Anacostia to get her in as Porter, though for obvious reasons, there was a different name on his file._

_The boy she’d killed. But he had died and had still – perhaps stupidly, perhaps wisely – defended her, and though she doubted she could have ever grown to love him, had she never done what she did…he had been right. He had, maybe, seen a light in her darkness before anyone else, and so she wanted to think he’d maybe even be okay with her using his likeness to help bring to fruition a non-violent revolution._

_And maybe she hadn’t realized the good she was capable of until others had actually given her a chance. Anacostia. Andre._

_Raelle._

_Without them…without them seeing through the storm that sometimes consumed her, she doubted she’d even be alive. She was lucky, to be surrounded by so much empathy and compassion that allowed her to pull herself out of the pit she had willing dug herself into._

_Maybe she was wrong, and Porter would hate her for all she had done, but she didn’t want to think about that, and so she didn’t dwell on it: it was in the past, and she had a mission, now._

_It was time for her and Raelle’s paths to finally merge once more._

_She flicked her lighter._

\---

Scylla sat bolt upright, surprising Raelle. They largely hadn’t moved since their second go-around, Raelle falling into an easy, satisfied sleep with Scylla wrapped around her. They’d awoken and exchanged slow kisses and quiet pleasantries and a fair amount of awkward tension that was relieved in small strokes and quiet reassurances that they would figure things out. Honestly, Raelle had been on the verge of sleep once again, lulled by the stillness of the morning and her bed partner, when Scylla had shot up. 

“That’s…that’s it,” she said, and stood not a moment later, scrambling out of bed like her life depended on it and heading over to her desk, completely unabashed about her nakedness. 

Not that Raelle was going to complain about the view: Scylla really was her type, but she squinted nonetheless, entirely too confused by the abrupt interruption to their otherwise quiet moment. 

“Scyl, what-” she started, but Scylla was already away from her desk, throwing on a shirt (Raelle’s) and tearing open one of the drawers on her desk and pulling out a pair of short pajama shorts, that she hopped into on her way out the door. 

Raelle blinked, shocked, as she realized that yes, in fact, Scylla had just left her own damn room, a still very-naked Raelle in her bed. And she hadn’t shut the door. 

“Fuck,” Raelle muttered, immediately getting out of bed and throwing on whatever clothes she could, before rushing after Scylla, who, by the time Raelle had reached the hall, was very close to the end of it, her pace nearly feverish. She looked like she was just barely preventing herself from breaking out into a sprint, and Raelle had to jog to catch up, feeling her face burn at the curious gazes they were receiving as she called out “Scyl, wait-”

Scylla didn’t slow down though, determination radiating off of her in waves, the air crackling around her. She didn’t bother knocking as she pushed her way into the War room, Raelle hot on her heels. 

Well over ten sets of eyes fell on them, and Raelle froze while Scylla marched up to the board on the opposite side of the room, paying absolutely no mind to everyone staring. 

“Specialist Collar,” Anacostia said, choosing to ignore the oddity of Scylla just barging into the room (in retrospect, Raelle realized maybe it wasn’t that odd of a thing for Scylla to do). Anacostia raised a pointed eyebrow, taking in Raelle’s mis-matched outfit and her flushed expression, which Raelle knew was getting redder by the second as Anacostia put the pieces together, “Nice of you to join us,” she said, tilting her head. 

Abigail’s mouth was hanging open, looking at Raelle for confirmation, and Raelle felt like her red face was enough. Tally looked between Raelle and Scylla, who was at the board, scribbling like a madwoman, counting things on her fingers and writing out formulas like some kind of tiny genius. Everyone else seemed entirely too confused about what was going on, and Raelle looked helplessly at Scylla, who was paying her no mind, grabbing the bottom of the board and pushing it up to reveal a clean one underneath it. It snapped into place with a loud click, startling a few people. 

She turned abruptly, looking directly at Anacostia. “We need to unseal the armories,” she said, without explanation, looking positively…serious. Deathly so, but there was an elation, a bounce in her step, subdued as it was, that was entirely too endearing. She didn’t elaborate, despite the myriad of confused looks, Anacostia’s included, that greeted her words. 

Just as quickly as she entered, Scylla was out like a shot, smiling brightly at Raelle and reaching out to stroke her cheek as she took her leave. 

Raelle’s unit looked at her, Abigail knowingly though with a slightly sour expression, and Tally with a million questions written on her face. Anacostia looked at her with a look of nonplussed exasperation, and Raelle pointed after Scylla.

“I better, um, yeah,” she said, before quickly following the little tornado that was Scylla Ramshorn.

**\---**

Their next stop was apparently the Rec room, Scylla arriving in what must have been record time. Raelle was actually sweating when she finally caught up. Scylla made a beeline for her workbench, people looking up curiously at the sudden commotion but not seeming particularly surprised to see Scylla marching around in basically her underwear, and returned to their work with little fanfare. 

Scylla started pulling out pages and pages, rolls and rolls of paper, slamming it all down on her desk and grabbing a pencil, starting to make immediate changes on the documents before her. 

Raelle approached, furrowing her brow, “Scylla, what the hell?”

Scylla stopped in her feverish movements for only a moment, to look at Raelle as though she’d forgotten she was there, but as soon as she saw her, she beamed. 

“Raelle, don’t you get it?” she asked, poking the pages with her pencil, “Truth isn’t enough, because we speak truths to each other all day, but unless they’re truths that we believe in, we don’t see them as valid or even true. Truth is explained away or pushed aside by emotions. We don’t see it as truth unless we accept someone else’s point of view. Not unless we can understand. Not unless we can meet each other at that line drawn in the sand, and see each other. Really see each other. Truth would never be enough, truth bombs were never going to be enough, and I knew it, I just couldn’t find the missing link-”

“What missing link?” Raelle asked, even more confused than she was before. 

Scylla straight-up dropped her pencil, surging forward and cupping Raelle’s face, shocking her with a kiss right on the mouth, people around them be damned. 

She pulled away, though not by much, pressing their foreheads together. “Empathy,” she whispered, “Empathy, Raelle. And the compassion that can come from it. It’s all we have: it’s the only way to see someone and recognize their experience. Their inherent value. Without it, we’re nothing: machines, dead-set on our suicide missions and our righteous causes, no matter the cost. Without empathy, we can never hope to understand each other. How can they understand us, if they never walk a mile in our shoes? How can they feel our pain, if they’re not receptive to it? How can they understand what it is we are subjected to without understanding that we are no different from them? That we are beings, afraid and alive, just like them?” she dropped her voice to just below a whisper, “How do you turn a convicted terrorist, into a revolutionary?” Scylla squeezed Raelle’s face, eyes dancing with passion and desperation. “Don’t you see, Raelle? Empathy. Empathy bombs. We have to make them see, not the truth, but the humanity behind it.”

Scylla released Raelle’s face, leaving her to stare, dumbstruck, as Scylla returned to her workbench, positively feverish. 

Raelle let Scylla’s words sink in, a warmth settling in the pit of her stomach as she watched Scylla - half-dressed and half-mad with inspiration - get to work.

\---

The armories, which turned out to be nearly all of the doors that Raelle hadn’t been able to open, were stockpiled high with crates and crates full of assembled “truth” bombs, which were carefully taken apart, one by one, to extract their Whispers and make new ones. New ones that Raelle helped create, when Scylla had pulled her aside and asked if she’d be willing to do so.

“You don’t have to,” she’d hastened to say, her voice gentle, “But…you’re a huge part of their inspiration.”

Raelle had smiled and nodded, cupping Scylla’s face and kissing her, “I’ll help,”

The new seeds took a few weeks of Scylla and a small army of other witches writing and re-writing ideas, trying them and failing and trying again. Scylla, rather than getting discouraged, let it work her into a feverish frenzy. 

Raelle, most of the time, would have to pull Scylla from her workbench well into the night, and Scylla would be awake most mornings before the sun had even come up, and Raelle only knew that because she’d been opting to stay in Scylla’s room for reasons she didn’t want to fully examine but certainly enjoyed despite herself.

While Scylla and her volunteers worked on the new seeds, others helped dismantle the assembled fireworks: some were large, like what would be used in displays in major cities, according to one of the civilians, and others were small, like that cherry bomb Scylla had showed them, and were supposed to be shipped out to smaller suppliers, “To really make sure the message reaches everyone”. 

“How are you sure they’ll make it in time?” Raelle asked, intrigued at just how well-planned everything seemed. Well-planned, but somehow, still just one stumble away from unraveling. 

“Because we’re the ones distributing them,” the woman said, pulling out a box and cracking it open before passing it down the un-packing line they’d created to empty the armories. “Once they’re ready, we’re driving them all over the country. We can’t guarantee that they’ll be used when we need them to, of course. But overall, we should be able to get them to where they need to be by the time we need them to be there,”

Raelle raised an eyebrow but didn’t bother to ask more questions: it wasn’t really her department (and likely, the less she knew about it, the better). Despite that, it was all hands on deck, because the change put them a bit behind schedule on making sure everything was ready. 

Scylla threw herself entirely into the work. Raelle knew that they’d sort of silently agreed to not talk too seriously about what their relationship…whatever it was, meant to them. She knew that they’d silently agreed to let it flow and see how things went, and talk as things came up, but it really was put on the back burner as Scylla committed herself to finding the right combinations of sounds to create not just an Empathy seed, but an Empathy seed that wouldn’t sicken civilians or send them to the hospital, or overwhelm them. A surprising amount of civilians on the base were open to being experimented on, and even some witches volunteered. 

Still, Scylla took the brunt of the work, hyper-focused on the task at hand. Raelle didn’t mind putting off a serious talk about…well, them, simply because she’d tortured herself so much over semantics, that it was just nice to let herself…feel, and enjoy, Scylla’s presence. But it did feel like putting off the inevitable. 

But. They had time. A few months. And some matters were more pressing, like how the bags under Scylla’s eyes grew, how her constant nights of five hours of sleep or less really were not conducive to creating a whole new seed combination from scratch, and how she barely ate anything and certainly neglected the fact that every human being needed water, at some point or another. 

Raelle sort of fell into taking care of her, along with Andre some days. At first, Raelle would just bring Scylla half of her lunch when she realized that Scylla hadn’t eaten anything since waking up, or filling an extra mug with water to put on Scylla’s workbench. 

It progressed from there. She started making meals for Scylla, as well as tea that Andre would brew, asking for a status report on “their girl”, which had Raelle trying to ignore the fuzzy feeling of warmth at realizing just how fond of Scylla Andre really was. Sometimes, she would also fill a tall glass of water, which she would bring to Scylla’s workstation, and she wouldn’t leave until Scylla had eaten at least half of the food and had downed all of the liquids. 

Were it at any other moment, Raelle was sure that Scylla would have rolled her eyes and told Raelle that she wasn’t a child, but as it stood, she was so focused that half the time she didn’t even look at her food, just grabbing it blindly as she scribbled or furrowed her brow and stared, gaze a million miles away, lost in her thoughts. Raelle got used to bringing her own reading – the thick file wasn’t going to study itself – and sitting at Scylla’s side until she was satisfied that Scylla wasn’t going to die of dehydration or starvation. 

First it was just lunch, but she started getting in the habit of making dinner for Scylla too, which eventually progressed to kissing her forehead, then her cheeks, and then any and every part of her face to pull her out of her concentration. To break her away from her task long enough to get her to look at Raelle, who would raise her eyebrows and cup Scylla’s cheeks and remind her that she needed to sleep. 

It sometimes took some convincing (and more kisses and whispered promises of what they could do when they got to Scylla’s bed), but eventually she would pry Scylla off of her workbench and walk them to her room, where Scylla would make some half-hearted attempt to pull Raelle in for sex, but would fall asleep before anything could even get remotely heated. It was honestly so endearing, Scylla curled up against Raelle, that she didn’t even mind.

Still, despite her best efforts, Scylla was heading for burnout, and fast, and Raelle knew that. Hell, even her unit noticed it. 

“How long did she sleep last night?” Tally asked, quietly, from their own workbench they’d been assigned after they officially joined the resistance.

Raelle looked over her shoulder to Scylla, who was slumped over in her chair, eyes open (if only just), with a determined look on her face, but looking worse for the wear. 

Raelle sighed, “I think she managed four hours, I don’t know though. When I woke up the bed was already empty,”

Abigail looked over at Scylla as well, furrowing her brow. 

“She’s going to like…die,” she said, sounding genuinely concerned. Which was saying something: her unit had been largely unsurprised to learn that Raelle had caved to her desires, though not much else had changed in way of how they interacted with Scylla: Abigail, still with skepticism but now, begrudging respect, and Tally, with cautious optimism but a sense of formality between them that kept the relationship from being anything other than mutually understanding one another. 

Abigail turned back to Raelle, raising an eyebrow, “You should take her to bed, Raelle,”

Raelle rolled her eyes, “In the middle of the day? She’d throw a fit. I’m shocked I even get her to bed half the times that I do manage. Most of the time it’s because she’s already half asleep,”

“Abigail’s right though. She won’t do us any good if she passes out. How can she even think straight?” Tally asked. 

Raelle refrained from making a joke, though she could see that Abigail was close to making it, too. 

Raelle sighed, “I appreciate it guys, but she’s not going to listen to me,”

“Well she’s certainly not going to listen to any of us, and like full offense but she needs to rest. Get her back to her bed. Sex her up if you need to,”

Raelle shot her a look, but Abigail continued, “She needs to like…stop. And this is coming from a Bellweather – it’s coming from _me_ , so you know it’s serious,” she looked at Raelle pointedly. 

Both Abigail and Tally did, actually, and Raelle sighed again, standing. 

“Fine, but if she chews me out, you won’t hear the end of it from me in our dorm tonight when she kicks me out of bed,”

Not that she would, and Raelle knew that, and the thought had her heart skipping despite herself.

“Godspeed, soldier,” Tally said, sending her a mock-salute as Raelle stood and headed over to Scylla. 

“Hey, Scyl,” she greeted quietly, and Scylla quirked an eyebrow, not looking up from the schematic before her. 

“Do you think seed Thirty-seven and Thirty-nine can be combined?” she asked, the exhaustion even seeping its way into her voice. 

Raelle smiled sympathetically, not that Scylla noticed. 

“Scyl,” she said, and Scylla squinted at her page. “Scyl, thirty-seven and thirty-nine are for Seeing. What good would they do?”

“See inside people’s souls,” Scylla muttered, starting to tap her pencil. 

If Raelle hadn’t been paying so much attention to Scylla since they’d started sleeping together, she could have easily been fooled into thinking that was a lucid answer from a tired, mad Necro genius. But it was Scylla, and she knew that for Scylla, talking about seeing into people’s souls was absolute gibberish. She also happened to know how Scylla looked when she was exhausted. Raelle’d seen how dead her eyes looked, in that cell in Cotton Mather, after particularly hard rounds of interrogations. Even then, Scylla hadn’t looked so…ragged and unkempt. Her gaze, at first glance, seemed to be focused, but it wasn’t. She blinked, a lot: something that Scylla never did (part of her intimidation factor). Her shoulders were slumped. She was hitting a breaking point, and she was refusing to let herself break, and that was almost even worse. Like some kind of self-punishment.

Because Raelle had noticed it. That resolve that Andre had spoken about. It seemed so…obvious, now that she allowed herself to see it. Scylla had come…she’d come a very long way. And sometimes, that resolve to be better, and to do better…it weighed on her. As though by being better – by pushing herself beyond her limits, she could somehow make up for a past that, simply, could not be fixed. It was self-flagellation, disguised as determination, and it made Raelle ache to see. Scylla truly was trying so hard to make up for the sins of her past…

“Scyl, you need to go to bed,”

“I need to finish-”

“You won’t be able to, if you keep up like this,”

Scylla shot her a dirty look, then, displeased. “I survived over two years in one of the highest-security prisons in the goddess-forsaken world, Raelle,” she said lowly, narrowing her eyes. 

Raelle held up her hands in surrender, “I know that,” she said, but Scylla continued.

“They kept me awake all hours of the day, every day. They only let us sleep for a few hours at a time. They never shut the lights off. You yourself literally had rounds where you banged on the doors to wake us up. You don’t think I can handle this?” she very nearly scowled, and Raelle sighed. 

“I don’t think you have to,” Raelle said quietly, “You didn’t have a choice, there. Here, you can rest.”

Scylla flared her nostrils, but Raelle could see that she was speaking enough reason to get through to the rational side of Scylla’s brain: what little of it remained functional.

Finally, it clicked that Raelle was right. Raelle only received confirmation because Scylla acquiesced, pursing her lips, “I know that you’re right and I dislike you for it,” she muttered, finally dropping her pencil. She pressed her palms to her eyes and stifled a yawn. Raelle chose to follow her line of reason to finally convince Scylla to head to bed.

“How many people do you have working on this, Scyl?” Raelle asked gently, and Scylla sighed. 

“I don’t know. Twelve? Twenty? Something with a two in it,”

Raelle nodded, “Do you think that, for a day or two, they may be able to make do without you?”

“Fucking…maybe,” Scylla said. 

“C’mon. I’ll come with you,”

“You trying to get me in your bed, Specialist Collar?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and making what Raelle guessed was supposed to be a cheeky smile, but it looked more like a tired grimace. 

“No, I’m trying to get you in _your_ bed,” Raelle leaned over, looping her arm around Scylla’s shoulders, squeezing and hoisting a non-compliant Scylla up as best she could. 

“Buy me dinner first,” she muttered. 

Raelle rolled her eyes, “I’ve been making you dinner for the last week, Scyl. Think you owe me,”

“Mm, forward. I like it,” she conceded with a wink, finally leaning into Raelle and accepting her help to get Scylla out of the Rec room and down the few halls to her room. Scylla didn’t even bother undressing, which she usually made some effort to do, but it seemed even she was willing to acknowledge, in that moment, how overworked she’d allowed herself to become. Raelle decided to follow her example, falling into bed next to her a moment later, and Scylla pulled her close almost immediately, breathing in deeply. For a moment, Raelle genuinely thought she was already asleep, but she suddenly leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on Raelle’s lips. 

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Raelle couldn’t help but melt, wrapping her arms around Scylla. 

“You’re welcome,” she whispered, though she knew that it fell on deaf ears, Scylla already out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all needed that. Can we call it fluff? After everything I've put them through? I'd consider it fluff but I'll let you guys decide. 
> 
> Anyway, if you're paying close attention, you'll notice that Scylla's POV story ends right where Raelle's began in the fic: for all intents and purposes, our peek into her history has come full-circle. From here on out...it's her and Raelle. Finally united and on the same page, as they should be. 😭😭
> 
> Also, Scylla finally having people to take care of her! Mamacostia holding her! Andre choosing to trust her despite knowing she's done something horrible. Raelle taking care of her. We love to see our bb Necro finally have some support and love in her corner (and we love Raelle for finally allowing herself to indulge in Scylla's soft side). We love to see it. 
> 
> Hope you're all staying safe, continuing to enjoy the fic, and I'll see you all in a few days for the next chapter!


	22. Blessed Bloody Honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm writing this right as they're announcing the election news, they're calling it and we're gonna cross our fingers that 2020 doesn't pull a 2020 and manage to mess everything up somehow... 😂😭😭😭
> 
> Anyway, as always, thank you for the lovely comments and for continuing on this fic journey with me! We are getting so close to the end, but not quite there yetttt. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the latest installment!

Scylla was out for damn near fourteen hours, and after a stern talking to not just from Raelle but also from Anacostia, she promised, with some success, to not let herself get to that point of exhaustion again. And though it took several more weeks, they did eventually find the perfect combination to create the seed of Empathy to add to the truth bombs, and everyone got to work on re-making the shells they already had, along with continuing their work on other ones. 

All in all, it’d been a few months since Raelle had found herself in Scylla’s bed, intent on apologizing and ending up naked in Scylla’s arms. Months of observing Scylla as she worked, hard, to not let down the people following her. To not slow them down. Months of watching Scylla work tirelessly, of seeing Scylla as she was, rather than who everyone wanted Raelle to believe she was...Raelle herself included. 

Scylla was…scary, and determined, and intelligent beyond belief. She was warm in the way she spoke with everyone working with her, though Raelle did realize that, indeed, she never spoke to them about anything other than the work. She was an expert at responding to questions without giving actual answers, especially if they asked questions about anything other than the plans for the revolution. She was generally distant with pretty much everyone, but present. Likeable. But she seemed to really only consider herself close with two people, other than Raelle: Anacostia and Andre.

Scylla later told Raelle Andre’s story, and she could hear the agony, however residual, in Scylla’s voice. Could still see how both memories haunted her: of the massacre, and of the pain, both of which she had caused.

Sometimes…it was hard. It was hard to marry the two images of Scylla that she had in her mind: that charming, cold-blooded terrorist with a smile to kill and a glare that could cut flesh to the bone, and the warm, giving lover between the sheets, full of gentle smiles and hopeful gazes and warm, loving and tender kisses. 

Some things were similar, between the two versions she’d seen of Scylla: her playfulness. Her flirtation. Her convictions. That bad-girl aura was still there and was sometimes just a little too much for Raelle to handle – though luckily, now she could act on just how hot those smoldering looks got her.

It was…so odd, to remember how different Scylla had been. She’d well and truly come a long way, but sometimes, Raelle still saw small glimpses of the old Scylla, if she was particularly tired or particularly annoyed. She was better at controlling it around civilians, but she could slip back into her cold demeanor without much provocation, and sometimes, it could be hot as hell, if she used it to tease Raelle. But, other times…outside of the context of their bedroom, it put Raelle on edge. 

All small things, but small things that nagged at her. Small things that kept her from fully embracing what she could feel blooming in her chest, and they needed to talk about it, because she didn’t just want to throw that feeling away. She really didn’t, and she considered that a huge step. 

When Raelle joined the foraging trip – a near weekly occurrence for her now – her initial intention hadn’t been to talk to Scylla about it all, but as she watched Scylla walking ahead of her, absorbed in actually foraging, it struck Raelle just how much she enjoyed Scylla’s company. She hadn’t slept in her own bed in well over two months. They’d talked about everything except Raelle’s misgivings, some nights staying up to discuss life and death or their days, and others, tangled up in and inside of each other. 

Sometimes both, if they had the time. 

Still, Raelle hesitated to call Scylla her girlfriend, because that felt too official. It felt like…too much. Like it couldn’t be true because there was still a weight on Raelle’s shoulders, preventing her from being entirely untethered from the Earth, even if her head was sometimes in the clouds. 

“Scyl?” she called, and Scylla paused in her walk, though she didn’t look at Raelle, eyes on the bushes around them. 

“Mm?” she asked. 

“Have you killed anyone else?”

Scylla stiffened, gaze snapping immediately to Raelle’s, an eyebrow arching. 

Well. Raelle certainly hadn’t meant to be so to the point, but she pursed her lips, realizing that really, that was the question she had. 

“Do…do you really want to know?” Scylla asked, looking halfway between confused and tense. 

Raelle worried her lip, but she nodded. Yes. She…she needed to know, actually. And she was a little surprised at that realization. She needed to know, because she needed to know Scylla would tell her. She needed to know that Scylla would be honest. She trusted her to tell the truth, but it was…a big step, to take her at her word. And perhaps…this was the first test. Their first test.

“Yes,”

Scylla straightened the strap of her foraging bag. “Then…yes. Some. Like my ex,”

Raelle laughed, but she realized very quickly that Scylla wasn’t, and she swallowed. “You’re…you’re serious…”

Scylla nodded, her expression very much serious. “Yes,”

“Oh. So I better watch out…?” Raelle screwed up her features. She’d meant it as a joke but it didn’t come out like one, and Scylla immediately shook her head, coming forward and tentatively reaching out for Raelle’s hands. 

“No. Goddess Raelle, no,” Scylla shook her head vehemently, “I would never,” she tugged at Raelle’s hands for emphasis, “never hurt you. Ever,” there was a desperate plea in her words and in her eyes, and Raelle nodded to show that she understood. 

Still, Scylla eyed her, as though assuring herself that Raelle truly was ready for her to continue. “I killed Porter because he suspected I was Spree. He put my whole mission to infiltrate the military in jeopardy. He was raising suspicions and making people ask questions, and at the time, killing him seemed like the most…logical solution,”

Logical, right. Raelle almost snorted, but refrained. 

It was then, though, that the name struck her. Porter…

“Porter…” realization dawned. Porter…their pilot, the person whose disguise she’d used…she’d killed that man. 

Raelle’s stomach churned. He’d looked so familiar, too…

Scylla flinched, seeing the realization in Raelle’s face. “I should probably explain,”

“Uh, yeah, that’d be good,” Raelle muttered. 

Scylla explained her reasoning for using Porter’s name (and, it turned out, his fucking face), and though it didn’t sit well with Raelle, she could…she could see it. In some twisted way, she could see how it could be cathartic (if for no one else besides Scylla), however vicariously, for Porter to “see” some good being done, though Raelle couldn’t say that she condoned it. She said as much, and Scylla sighed. 

“I know, Raelle. There’s no excuse, but…I’m not who I used to be,”

Raelle reached out and gently grasping Scylla’s chin, “I know,” she said quietly, “I’m just trying to learn more about you. Because…” she took a deep breath, “Because I really like you. A lot,”

The corner of Scylla’s mouth ticked up. “I like you too,”

Raelle rolled her eyes good-naturedly, “I know,”

Scylla shrugged, “It beared repeating,”

“But,” Raelle said, and Scylla looked at her, expectant, “…I need to know these things, about you. I know you’ve...that you've really changed, and work hard for it, but I don’t want any…omissions or lies between us. I need to know everything. If we’re going to do this,” she looked between them, taking in a breath before returning her gaze to Scylla’s, “I need to know who you were, so that I can learn who you are now,”

Scylla pursed her lips but nodded, “What do you want to know?”

Raelle let out a shaky breath, “Well, nothing right now. But I just need you to know that I will ask you, and I need you to be honest with me when I do,”

Scylla squeezed her hands before releasing one, crossing her heart with it, “I absolutely will, Raelle,”

“And I need you to give me time to digest them because, well,” she bit her lip, “I’m still sort of grappling with it all,”

Scylla grabbed her hand again. “I know. I’ve had years to deal with all of this, so I get it. And I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere. As long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here,”

Raelle sent her a small, thankful smile, pulling one of their clasped hands to her lips to kiss it. 

Scylla tilted her head, smiling. 

Raelle dropped their hands from her lips, but kept them together, fingers laced, and Scylla glanced down again before she started walking, hand in hand with Raelle. 

“I do have one question now,” Raelle said, suddenly, and Scylla turned to her.

“Shoot,”

“How did you kill Porter?”

Scylla hesitated, looking at Raelle as though trying to ascertain if she was serious, which she was. 

Scylla raised her eyebrows, as though asking if Raelle was absolutely sure she wanted to know, and Raelle waited. Finally, she nodded. “I…burdened him with a Whisper of unbearable sadness. He threw himself off of my dorm building not long after-” Raelle took in a sharp breath, but Scylla didn’t seem to notice, continuing: “They said that some brave and stupid new cadet tried to save him-”

“Was it during Beltane?”

Scylla froze, nodding slowly, “Yes…”

“That was me,” Raelle said, in disbelief. They had indeed crossed paths all those years ago at Fort Salem, however indirectly, and the thought sent a shiver through her. No wonder Porter had looked so familiar…

“I…they never told me his name. He got taken to the morgue almost immediately, all hush-hush. His face, he…” Raelle trailed off, the memory of Porter’s visage, broken and half-covered in blood making her stomach churn. It made sense she hadn't fully recognized him...

Scylla tilted her head, looking concerned as Raelle swallowed. She’d…she’d touched a victim of murder, by the hand of the woman whose very fingers had been inside of her that morning. Whose fingers were interlaced with her own in that very moment... 

“You could have died,” Scylla whispered. Raelle stared at her, surprised by the sheer, raw sadness that thought apparently brought Scylla. “You’re a good person, Raelle,” she said, sounding almost…in awe. 

“So are you,” Raelle said quietly, “Now, anyway,”

Scylla shook her head, “No, I’m not. Not now, and certainly not then. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying. It’s all that I can do,”

Raelle squeezed her hand, “I’ll help,”

Scylla squeezed back, sending her a grateful smile.

“You already have.”

\---

Eventually, Raelle asked about the other people Scylla had killed. And she told Raelle, quietly, answering all of Raelle’s questions, despite the clear discomfort it brought her: a mix of regret and determination dancing in her eyes as she recounted. Military police who had been on her tail not long after her parents had been murdered (“When I realized I just…I saw red. I was so full of rage at what the entire institution had done to me. And to so many people I had known. I wanted them to hurt like they’d hurt me…”). People who Spree let her kill, in her fits of rage, (“They weren’t particularly concerned for lives that weren’t Spree, or that were actively working against us…”) or asked or ordered her to take care of (“To prove my loyalty to Spree and the cause.”)

“One doesn’t just go from no murder, to mass-murder,” she’d whispered contemplatively, when she’d seen the horror plainly written on Raelle’s face. She’d grimaced, “Spree needed to desensitize me and…I let them. But, to be fair to them…I had already been well on my way when they found me. They saw the potential for violence in me, since I’d already committed such acts, and they cultivated it.” And Raelle could still see that darkness, ever-present: still as much a part of Scylla as it had ever been, her eyes unfocused as she recounted - a ghost of the remorselessness with which she had to have operated clouding her warm blue eyes and giving them that cold edge so reminiscent of the Scylla she’d met at Cotton Mather.

The difference was now, she was fighting it, and Raelle admired that in her. She no longer gave in to the darkness, and though sometimes Raelle suspected that that was partially because Scylla knew Raelle would find it reprehensible, she kind of…didn’t care. The important thing was that Scylla was trying. She was finding her own moral compass, and Andre was right: that counted for something.

And Scylla was up front, when Raelle asked her about things, as she’d promised. 

So maybe it was foolish or stupid, or maybe she was more messed up in the head than she thought, but somewhere along the line, Scylla officially became her girlfriend. She didn’t know when people started referring to them as such, but it didn’t really matter: once it started going around, it stuck, and once it had stuck, there was really no going back. 

At first it was…odd. Scylla started accompanying her to War Room briefings, which was fairly normal, except now everyone knew they were sleeping together, and were actually a couple. They held hands in the meetings, cooked food for each other, Scylla quizzed Raelle on the file, which had become longer as they came up with more ideas and tweaks to the original plan, and as Tally revealed more and more of the military secrets that she’d discovered during her super-secret missions in the archives while Raelle was at Cotton Mather. 

Raelle also stayed nights in Scylla’s room, sat with her at her workbench, and really, they were only apart from each other if the unit dragged her away from Scylla. Even then, like in their current moment…Scylla sometimes ended up tagging along. Especially the longer they were together, as Abigail and Tally adjusted to having a fourth person with them. 

At the moment, they were in the library, studying. Abigail, Tally, and Raelle were busy reading their files, all sat in chairs, all facing each other in an odd triangle. Scylla was sat on the ground, leaning against Raelle’s legs, finishing her lunch and reading over her own version of the “Operation Witchbomb” file, as they’d taken to calling it. 

Scylla’d taken, in the last few months, more and more to randomly grilling the unit on the finer details of the plan, something that was both useful and also terrifying, that Scylla had the entire plan more memorized than them, despite reportedly not having worked on it as much as Anacostia. 

Scylla had one hand reaching behind her, playing with Raelle’s fingers, and it was distracting, but nice. Being with Scylla was nice. She was…funny, and passionate, and so full of life, now that she wasn’t trapped constantly in a cell. Now that she was allowed to flourish. She seemed to take up the room, sometimes, and it made Raelle’s heartbeat kick into overdrive when she smiled one of her genuine smiles. 

Maybe her favorite thing was Scylla’s sigh of pure contentment. It warmed Raelle’s entire chest when she heard it, just knowing everything that Scylla had had to live through to reach a point where she could be so contented (and knowing that, more often than not, Raelle was the cause of that contentment), and she had to sometimes refrain from pushing Scylla against the wall and having her wicked way with her wherever they were in the moment Scylla graced her with the sound. Not that Scylla didn’t have a voyeuristic streak, but Raelle wanted to maintain some semblance of public decorum.

Fuck, who was she kidding. She’d learned the secret seeds for some of the locked compound doors with the express purpose of being able to push Scylla into one and do whatever they pleased.

Raelle had other favorite things, too. Scylla’s eyes when she was delighted by something, dancing with happiness rather than derisive amusement (though she still had a soft spot for that look: sue her, she liked the bad girl vibe). Her philosophy on death. The moles on her back and the filthy moans Raelle could coax out of her in bed. She liked when Scylla was rough with her, her desperation to get Raelle in her bed just as hot, if not more so, than their first time. She liked Scylla’s sharp wit and quick tongue (her tongue in general). 

She just…she’d fallen hard, once she’d allowed herself to. 

“Mm, okay, that’s it, break’s over for me,” Scylla snapped Raelle out of her reverie, releasing her hand and standing, bringing her plate with her, “The armory awaits,”

She leaned down for a goodbye kiss, which Raelle returned, gently grabbing her chin and smiling into the kiss. Sometimes, it still kind of blew her mind how blasé Scylla could be about public displays of affection. Not that Raelle was complaining, but Abigail and Tally loved to tease her mercilessly. 

“Pleasure, ladies, as always,” Scylla said to the unit, her voice a little cooler, her inflection a little more polite. Despite months of progress between them, things could still get…tense, between the unit and Scylla, and Raelle couldn’t say she blamed them. Abigail especially seemed to enjoy being just the slightest bit antagonistic, though thankfully it had turned more into banter between the two, however much it seemed to veer dangerously close to “I’m not joking” on occasion. Almost like siblings. 

Tally and Scylla got along much better. Raelle saw that they had a sort of odd, mutual respect that kept their relationship somewhat formal, but definitely not antagonistic. 

From her unit, she would take what she could get. 

“What, no kiss for us?” Abigail shot, snarky. 

Scylla rolled her eyes and left without looking back, and Raelle watched her leave.

She turned back to her file in her lap, smiling despite herself, unable to wipe the expression off of her face, and of course, the others noticed. 

She looked up to dual smirks directed at her, and she rolled her eyes. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. You just look like a total sap, is all,” Tally teased. 

“You love her,” Abigail said, drawing out the word “love”. 

Raelle scoffed, “Okay guys,” she muttered, looking down at the file in her lap. 

Nevertheless, she could feel her cheeks heat up and could still feel their gazes on her, so she lifted her own to confirm and…yep, they were both still staring, though the smirks had been transformed into soft smiles. 

“What?” Raelle asked. 

Abigail gave a half shrug, “It looks good on you, Rae. She looks good on you. I never thought I’d say this, considering…well, everything,” she waved a hand in the air as though that encompassed the “everything” she was talking about, “But…you make a cute couple. And she’s clearly good for you. I’ve just…” Abigail shook her head, all hints of amusement dropped for something far sappier, but far more heartfelt, “She makes you smile in a way that I’ve never seen, and…it’s nice. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you so happy. It looks good on you,”

Raelle felt her blush deepen. 

“I agree,” Tally said, nodding, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that. I’m glad I’m getting to see it now,”

Raelle scoffed and looked away, to cover the tears she could feel starting to form from the unabashed support. She tried to blink them away. No way was she going to let herself turn into a huge sap in front of her unit, absolutely not…

She immediately failed, trying to think of something sarcastic to say and coming up with nothing. Instead, she muttered a quiet “Thank you,” and they settled into silence, Raelle unable to read the blurry words in front of her. 

The slamming of a file made her look up. 

Abigail had closed her folder abruptly and with quite a bit of force. “No, fuck this,” she said, standing, “we’ve been studying for months now, we know this shit, Raelle’s in love and we’re about to change the goddamn world. Ladies, we’re playing hooky,”

Raelle and Tally exchanged looks, but Abigail was already at Tally’s chair, pulling her up out of her seat, “We’re going outside and we’re going to enjoy the sunlight and let Raelle blab about Scylla and we’re going to have a goddamned good time, fuck the homework,”

Raelle shook her head but stood nonetheless as Abigail came over to yank her out of her chair, too. Abigail wrapped one arm around Raelle’s shoulders, and the other one around Tally’s and together, they headed out to face the day.

\---

There were more skulls than there had been the last time she’d examined the collection, and Raelle raised an eyebrow, taking them all in. The latest addition was small, though Raelle had no idea what kind of bird skull it was, and she wasn’t about to pretend. 

“Where do you find these?” she asked instead. 

Scylla was busy going through her books, looking for something specific that Raelle hadn’t been paying much attention to when she’d mentioned it. 

“On foraging trips, usually, but sometimes when I go out on breaks,” she answered from where her nose was buried in a rucksack. “I find a bird or small animal and I have to extract the bones myself, but I learned how to do that ages ago. Always creeped my parents out that I had learned Skinning work at such a young age,”

“Did you ever use it on anyone?” Raelle asked, morbidly curious despite herself. 

Scylla paused, screwing up her features as she genuinely thought about it. “Can’t say that I did.”

“Just as well,” Raelle muttered to herself. “Do you know what birds they usually are?”

“I’ve got a few. Crows, jays, finches. That new one is a Bowerbird, I think.”

Raelle turned to look at Scylla, who shrugged, “I always thought they weren’t in the area, but I’m no bird expert, so I can’t say for sure. Could also have just been someone’s ‘exotic’ pet that escaped or something…”

Raelle snorted, “I’m sorry, did I hear right? You, not an expert in something?” she joked, to which Scylla replied,

“Unusual, I know, but it’s more likely than one might think,” a pause, where she turned and caught Raelle’s eye and smirked, “Don’t tell anyone, though,”

Raelle laughed despite herself, turning back to the small collection. “You’re a big fan of skulls, huh?”

“I am. I’m not sure if it has something to do with being Necro or if bones have always just been fascinating to me. I had a collection, when I was younger. Just about anything dead that we found, I would strip and clean and carry with us for as long as it would fit in my pack. Freaked my parents right the hell out, but they let me do it anyway because they knew I liked it. I made a few make-shift keychains out of them, for a time. Wore them to a new school once and I got sent home when they realized they were real. I’d forgotten they were there, honestly. Stopped making the keychains when I realized how fragile small animal skulls are,” she said it with a hint of sadness, and Raelle deduced that she’d definitely found more than one of her precious chains broken. 

An idea struck her, and Raelle looked over her shoulder, to make sure that Scylla was once again occupied with looking for the book or notes or whatever it was she needed. Satisfied, Raelle quickly looked over the collection again, before making her selection and quietly pulling it from the neat pile. 

\---

She had to spend more time than she would have liked away from Scylla, using the excuse of studying and unit unity to dodge any suspicions for suddenly spending more than a night away from her girlfriend. It didn’t take her more than a week to make though, thankfully. Between other duties on the compound and having to keep all of the stuff she needed for it in her old room with her unit, she considered it a bit miraculous that it took her so little time. But still, she needed the right time to give it to Scylla, and she hated having to hide it. She knew it would be worth it, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all know that Bowerbirds are endemic to Australia and surrounding regions? I have questions...it's been a while since my last rewatch so I genuinely don't remember if we know for a fact that the Collar charm is a Bowerbird foot (like, was that canon or was that fanon?), but I know fandom is big on the skull definitely being a Bowerbird, and we've all been on a rough road, so figured I'd throw you all a bone -
> 
> Ahaha badum-tiss. I'm not sorry. ;) 
> 
> Also, that full-circle with Porter...phew. But like, lbr, if Raelle can move beyond mass-murder, she's already handled Scylla at her darkest. Still, Scylla's lucky Raelle's memory of Porter's face wasn't clearer...she would have had no way of knowing that Raelle had been the one to try to save him, could you imagine how fast Raelle would have noped out of the first few chapters if she'd recognized him?? Dodged a bullet there, Scylla... 👀👀
> 
> Anyway! Lookit our bbs finally being entirely open and honest with each other, we love to see healthy communication and we love to see them happy! 😭😭


	23. Revolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy lovelies! We've done it! We've made it all the way to the revolution, and none of us are ready for it, but our bbs have been preparing for a while, so it's time. Not really anything else to say for this chapter, except it's the penultimate, can you believe?? I hope you guys have enjoyed this fic, I know I've loved sharing it with you all. <3
> 
> Anyway, onto the update! Enjoy!

Despite all of the preparation…despite actual months of reading and re-reading, despite knowing the POW story backwards and forwards, to the point that Raelle could literally recite it in her sleep and often did – the scenario, entirely fabricated, playing itself out in her subconscious – she was nervous. 

Raelle was nervous for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was being back in her military uniform. Everyone who was ex-military were back in uniform, though the uniforms had been appropriately roughed up and torn about, buttons missing and colors running, dark splotches that looked like blood, and burned half to hell, to match the false story that they’d all barely made it out alive before blowing the compound.

She was leading the large group of people, the only person ahead of her being Scylla, wearing a disguise of some older woman who was apparently a higher-up in Spree and so assigned to check on the compound that week. Behind Raelle were all of her POW troops, as well as a small army of civilians, carrying the explosives they were going to set off. Scylla walked into the clearing of the Spree stronghold, an unassuming cabin, and Raelle and the others waited. Scylla’d insisted on going first, to make sure they were alone on the compound, and Raelle had no doubt in her mind that even if they weren’t, they would be soon. 

Sometimes it did get to her just how blasé about murder her girlfriend could be, but Raelle knew she was working on it, and honestly…in this case, it probably wouldn’t be the worst idea. 

Abigail was getting antsy next to her, fidgeting, excited. She’d been practicing her blasting all week. Tally’s gaze was flicking left and right, Seeing things that Raelle still honestly couldn’t comprehend how to even begin to see. Now they were playing the waiting game, awaiting the okay, which came a few moments later, Scylla marching up the small hill they were all situated on, hidden among the trees. 

Scylla flicked her lighter, burning away her disguise. “All clear,” she called, and Tally confirmed as Scylla motioned for everyone to follow her. Civilians headed down first, witches helping them bring the explosives down to the compound, which Scylla had already unlocked. They had basic blueprints of the place, which was, much like their own compound, mostly underground, though much smaller. It would take some time to set up all of the munitions, but with the amount of people, Raelle knew it wouldn’t be long, and she felt her palms start to sweat as Scylla approached her, smiling coyly.

“You know, much as I hate it, I’ve always had a thing for a woman in uniform,” she said, coming up to fix Raelle’s (ripped) collar. 

Raelle huffed nervously, “You get turned on at the strangest of times,” she muttered. 

Scylla arched an eyebrow, smirking mischievously, “That’s entirely your fault,”

“I’ll try to tone it down,”

“Don’t you dare,” Scylla said, deathly serious, which made Raelle laugh, if nervously. 

Scylla dropped her hands to Raelle’s lapel – which was buttoned as best as it could be, considering all of the missing buttons – and fussed over that for a moment before sighing. “Be careful out there, Raelle,”

“I’ll be fine,” Raelle said, trying to shrug it off nonchalantly, but Scylla didn’t fall for it. Raelle simply wasn’t as good as Scylla at hiding what she was feeling, and Scylla could clearly sense her nerves. 

“I know you’re prepared, but I’m serious. Please, be careful,” there was a plea to her voice that had Raelle nodding, just as serious. Scylla pulled on her lapel, bringing her in for a kiss, which Raelle reciprocated, shutting her eyes tight and trying not to think about how hard her heart was pounding in her chest. 

This was really goodbye. 

Raelle pulled away, biting her lip before fumbling with one of her pockets. “I, um. I made you something,” she said, pulling the charm out of her military jacket. She held it out in both of her hands for Scylla to see. 

It’d taken her a while, and it had been a pain in the ass to make, but it was worth it to see the shock on Scylla’s face. The bird skull she’d stolen, a lock of her braided hair, and a dried lavender sprig, all bound together with a protection seed and rune. A battle charm. She didn’t know for sure, but…after spending so much time with Scylla, she was fairly certain that Scylla didn’t have one. Especially since her parents were Dodgers. Dodging was a lifestyle, it was unusual for someone to do what Scylla did and enlist if her parents hadn’t. Raelle could only guess that any charm in her matriline had been lost to time, and, well…they weren’t going into a physical battle, but they were entering no-man’s land, uncharted waters, and having a bit of protection couldn’t hurt, right? 

Scylla grasped it delicately, looking at Raelle almost in…awe, and Raelle smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure if you had one, but even if you did, another one can’t hurt, right?”

Scylla pulled her into a tight hug, whispering in her ear “I love it,” before pulling away and pinning it on herself, smiling at Raelle after she’d fastened it. 

“Looks good,” Raelle said, swallowing around the lump in her throat. 

Scylla kissed her again, slow and deep, and Raelle felt a whine building in her chest as Scylla pulled away. She took Raelle’s hands, flipping over Raelle’s left palm and holding out her own palm next to it. Scylla quietly started tracing over her own upturned hand. “I’m sorry, I know this was causing you pain. Abigail let it slip a few weeks ago. It was done in haste, but I think…” she watched as Raelle winced, the “S” appearing on her palm, feeling not unlike someone dragging a small Exact-o knife through the top layers of her skin. 

Scylla gave her an apologetic look, before gently running that same finger over Raelle’s welted palm, in the reverse direction. Whatever seed she used was too low for Raelle to properly hear, but where Scylla’s finger traced, the pain subsided, until it didn’t hurt at all, just tingled, the welts still raised on her palm. 

She stared at Scylla, shocked. She’d never really seen non-fixers do such work. “How did you do that?”

Scylla smiled, “It’s a secret. Trace it,” she added, and Raelle did just that, eyeing Scylla curiously until she saw the S start to appear on Scylla’s upturned palm.

Raelle’s mouth fell open, “How-”

“Now, if you miss me…you can say hi, wherever you are. I’m afraid I couldn’t really change the letter, but if it’s any consolation…it’s not a branding. Unless you want it to be,” she raised her eyebrows suggestively. “But a lot of what I learned in dodging was…bastardized work, I guess. Or at least...work that is outside of military canon. This is a symbol from a sort of a Native alphabet. This one is for roots, hidden truths, and deep connections,” her look held a multitude of meanings, and Raelle very nearly got lost in her eyes until she heard Abigail calling out,

“Clear! Collar, positions in five!” Abigail, ever the Blaster, had of course been put in charge of placing and eventually detonating the explosives, a task she was all too delighted to head. It would take a few hours to assemble everything exactly the way that Abigail wanted it, but it fell squarely on the military witches to properly set up the explosives the civilians had brought into the Spree compound. They needed to give the others sufficient time to be fairly far away, even on foot, so as to avoid detection.

Raelle turned to look at her, and Abigail was giving her a serious, but sympathetic, “wrap it up” look. Behind her, civilians and the witches who weren’t ex-military were already heading back towards the woods, where Scylla would lead them back to their compound. It was a few days’ hike, and Raelle was suddenly extremely grateful that she’d given Scylla that charm. The woods were largely harmless, but knowing Scylla had it made her feel better. Her mother’s own battle charm was pinned over her heart, and having it made her feel more secure, if only just. 

She hoped it had the same reassuring effect on Scylla. 

Scylla tugged on her lapel again, bringing Raelle’s attention back to her. “Go out there and get our revolution going. And then...be careful. Come back to me, Raelle,” Scylla said, with so much raw emotion that Raelle couldn’t stop the words that came next. 

“I love you,” she whispered, shocked (but at the same time, not shocked at all) to realize it was true. She did. She loved Scylla Ramshorn, and the realization felt altogether too heavy, yet made her feel too light. 

Scylla looked surprised, but smiled. A small, genuine smile. She pulled Raelle in for another kiss, warm and desperate and far too short, Raelle trying despite that to savor every second even as Scylla separated and put her forehead to Raelle’s, biting her lip. Her eyes were still closed as she whispered “I love you too”, but when she opened her beautiful blues, they were rimmed with tears and adoration and…love, and goddess, suddenly goodbye felt a million times harder. “You better get going,” she added, flicking her gaze to where Abigail was likely still stood, watching them. 

Raelle sighed. “Yeah,” she stole one more kiss, steeling herself in Scylla’s soft lips and gentle touch, pulling away and nodding. 

Scylla smiled and backed away, finally turning and heading back into the woods. She turned one final time and waved, before disappearing into the forest, and Raelle sighed to herself. She pulled on the hem of her jacket before turning to Abigail, who nodded and motioned for Raelle to follow her.

Once everything was set up, they all sat around, killing a few more hours and watching the late afternoon sun finally start to set. The only indication that the rest of her unit was as nervous as she was, was their near-silence and unsure exchanged looks. Raelle kept wiping her palms on her trousers, sweating more and more the closer they got to the designated demolition time. They had to gather a fair distance from the cabin itself, to make sure they weren’t injured in the explosion.

“We’re sure this is a good enough distance?” she whispered, and Abigail rolled her shoulders. 

“We need to sustain at least some injuries, or else it’s not believable,” she nodded towards a few witches in front of them. “They’ll windsheer some of it, so none of us should get hit with debris, but we’re definitely going to end up on the ground. Be prepared for it,”

Raelle lifted an eyebrow, incredulous, and exchanged a look with Tally before rolling her neck, accepting her fate.

“Okay,” she muttered, settling into the brace position, the others doing so as well. 

“On three!” Abigail shouted, “Collective windsheer from lower rows, bomb activation seeds from upper!” she refocused herself forward, muttering quietly, “Blow the fucker down,”

“One, two, three!”

The ground buckled underneath them from the force of the explosion, the windsheer feeling like it did nothing as the energy hit them and knocked Raelle flat on her back, out cold a moment later. 

\---

Raelle didn’t have a concussion, which she was grateful for, holding an icepack to the back of her head while fixers ran, back and forth as best they could in a moving helicopter, trying to tend to others who had received a bit more of a hit than Raelle had. She’d only been out for a minute or two, shocked by the sheer force of the explosion, and the military choppers had been there no more than two hours later. 

There were more burns on her uniform, her jacket nearly completely obliterated, and her ears were ringing. The windsheer shield had largely, thankfully, taken the brunt of the damage, but some fire had still come through and several of the “POWs” that Raelle could see had a few severe burns. She knew it was what they’d signed up for, but it wasn’t exactly fun to see all of her injured comrades, so she turned her attention down to her palm, the faintest hue of red displaying a soft S. 

She touched it, heart pounding in her chest. They were really doing this, with no idea of what the world would look like on the other side. They’d really said goodbye with no guarantees of hello, and it made her ache to think of it, so she shoved the thought down, tracing the S and then clenching her fist. 

\---

No one paid Porter Tippit any mind as he walked into Tia’s Bar and Grille. It was packed, and Scylla made her way to the bar, Porter’s height and stature making it easier to push her way through the people, laughing and celebrating, the noise in the bar enough to give her a headache. The adrenaline pumping in her veins didn’t help in the slightest, and she knew she was heading towards a spike and then crash very soon, but she couldn’t really control it. She’d never been so nervous in her life, because her entire life had led to that very moment, and she needed a goddamn drink. More than that…she needed a television. 

She’d had a long day. She’d arrived in Boston in the guise of a He-Man sized dude named Ellis Chapman, a firefighter who had spent the entire day helping set up and inspect the massive cache of fireworks out on the harbor. Before that, she’d been disguised as “Max”, the non-binary truck driver bringing some of the munitions to the New England area. She’d been Max, on and off, for a few weeks, but since arriving in Boston the week before, getting their smaller fireworks out by any means necessary…well, she’d been in someone else’s skin for far too long for her tastes and for her capabilities - she was absolutely exhausted - but she felt she sort of owed Porter. 

At any rate, Scylla-as-Porter needed a drink, and needed a vantage point. Much as she wanted to be outside to hear the Whispers as they rippled through the air, already nearly every available area that overlooked the harbor was far too crowded for her tastes. Even the bar was, but at least bars had televisions, which was why she made her way to the front and ordered a Far From the Tree cider when she finally got a bartender’s attention. 

She stood, sipping the cider from the cool can, fixating on the television above the bar. They were showing other cities gearing up for their celebrations and footage of the Boston Pops, rotating between coverage of that and coverage of local celebrations. Below that was a smaller in-screen story unfolding: Abigail Bellweather speaking into a host of microphones at her podium, Tally and Raelle at her side. 

The sight of her girlfriend sent Scylla’s heart hammering in her chest. She hadn’t seen her in a bit over a month, and it ached. She knew it would, but it still surprised her just how in love with Raelle she actually was. It scared her, too, and in the darker parts of her…it felt too good to be true. Raelle was…was sunlight in spring. Warm and welcoming and forgiving, the sign of new and exciting things, and Scylla was…

Scylla was a cave. Deep and dark and pitch black, unable to be lit by even the brightest of the sun’s rays. Sure, sunlight permeated. She noticed it the more she was with Raelle, but there were still parts of her that Raelle’s light couldn’t touch, and she’d accepted that. 

She felt…special, though. And lucky. And her heart hurt as she looked at Raelle, looking stoic behind Abigail, arms folded behind her, a good soldier. 

The ticker underneath them spelled out the unfolding scandal of the Army’s most recent war heroes – highly decorated from their inspirational stories of valor in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds – denouncing the military. Revealing truths of operations large and small. They’d gone from heroes to whistleblowers, and the footage of their little reveal had sent shock waves through the population. Scylla had heard about it on the radio nearly all day, between songs on the oldies station the firework techs had it tuned to.

And it really was a scandal. The Bellweather unit, long pronounced Missing In Action and believed to be dead once the charred remains of their helicopter had been found…such a unit of well-known name and military legacy suddenly resurfacing after nearly a year of being missing, with many other missing military units at their side – as well as traumatized and rescued civilians – they were hailed as heroes. As far as the public had been concerned, the unit had led the others in an uprising against their Spree captors. Which had culminated in that explosion at the Spree compound. 

They were lauded, applauded. They received nearly every medal that Scylla had ever learned about, and then some. It was considered a miracle they’d managed to survive their harrowing experience at the hands of enemy combatants. 

They played their parts very well – silent, traumatized – allowing the military to spin the narrative as it so often did, until their heroics truly were, as Anacostia had predicted: lionized. There were talks of even renaming military bases after them. Sometimes, Scylla truly couldn’t believe that that part of their plan had gone so smoothly, even defying her expectations for just how far it could go. The medals she’d foreseen, sure, but the rest of the celebrity that came with it was…astounding. 

They’d nearly hit goddess-like status, coming close to even Alder herself in military canon. For a moment, they could do no wrong, and they were capitalizing on that to denounce the military and the entire narrative it had constructed for them. Calling them liars and revealing that it was the military that had blown the compound, not expecting them to live. It was the military that was committing atrocities, left right and center, and they had lived through it and could stay silent no longer

No one knew what to make of it. Their mics had been cut but the damage had already been done, the message was out…the entire population was standing on that precipice of change, looking over it, and in…oh, two minutes, they were going to receive that final push. 

Scylla downed her drink, sure to leave a sizeable tip for her server, before turning and heading out of the bar. She was too nervous to watch. She was too nervous to just sit still and stare at a screen as chaos in the form of empathy was unleashed. On top of that…why watch it, when she could live it?

She exited the bar, shoving her hands into Porter’s civilian clothes, fingering her lighter, the battle charm pinned to her lapel bouncing slightly with every step she took out into the night. 

She smiled as she heard the first firework of many fizzle up into the night sky, quieting everything a moment later with a loud bang.

\---

Raelle stared at the TV, tense. She was leaning forward slightly, partially rested on the back of their couch, her arms wrapped around Scylla’s shoulders, and Scylla was right in front of her, sitting and leaning slightly forward, attention entirely focused on the television before her. Raelle had been too nervous to sit. And she could feel in the way that Scylla held her forearms in a vice-grip, that Scylla was just as tense as she was, and part of her wanted to move: to sit down on the floor before her and look at Scylla, to give reassuring look, but she just couldn’t. Instead, she kept her arms locked around Scylla, giving her a reassuring squeeze, and they waited.

Everything they had worked for…everything they had been through, was culminating before them on their television screen. 

After the Empathy Bombs on the Fourth of July, all hell had broken loose. They’d needed to immediately get to safety, the threat of retaliation ever-present as the military imploded under the weight of its own scandals and the outcry from suddenly-sympathetic civilians from all walks of life. Alder and other higher-ups had been under immediate fire, which had them in turn out for blood as the walls closed in around them. Which Anacostia and Scylla had planned for: Anacostia smuggling the unit out of Fort Salem and sending them on their way to a nearby safe house, where Raelle’d run straight into Scylla’s arms, holding her tight. They had nothing else to do, at that point, but to wait, and see how things went. 

Eventually, though, she’d been called to testify in hearings before Congress as to her experience as a witch: not even as a decorated hero, just as a witch. It felt…surreal, to see the looks on civilian’s faces as it dawned on them just what they had forced witches to be, and do, for hundreds of years. The empathy seeds did wear off, slowly, but the memories, imbued with the pain of actual witches - with the real, palpable fear they felt - stood to keep the seed’s effects going long after the seeds themselves had dissipated.

Much of the rest of it was out of their hands, and certainly out of Scylla’s, who, as far as the rest of the world knew, had been executed at the secret military prison in the Caribbean. All papers reflected that, so Scylla had simply slipped into hiding, keeping a low profile, moving out to Provincetown on Cape Cod: close enough to easily be flown to Fort Salem, or for Anacostia to come and have a rendezvous with her. Raelle was forced, at first, to spend her time at Fort Salem, once it had been determined that Alder and her military allies would not be a threat to her or her unit. 

Reforms took a while, but they had been passing, and the biggest one yet was on the table: brought before Congress, the Salem Treatise had already gone up for a final vote. It had passed the Senate, which was already a huge milestone, and then it had passed the House. 

It was as good as law, but it didn’t feel real until President L. Wade – the daughter who had followed her mother’s footsteps all the way to the White House, though on a bit more of a liberal platform – had signed it, enshrining it as an immediate federal mandate, to be put up to the states in the hopes of turning it into a Constitutional Amendment down the line. The thought was...hopeful and terrifying and was almost too much: that was the next step. The next battle. One of many that they could see on the horizon, and Raelle knew that when the time came, they will likely have to face those challenges. But...for that moment...they needed to win this one, first.

Tally Craven, one of several credited co-authors of the Treatise (Scylla being another, uncredited one), stood off to the side of the camera, though it did occasionally turn to her. She looked nervous, but collected. Certainly more so than Raelle felt. Next to her stood Abigail, Adil at her side. He’d also helped write the treatise. Abigail hadn’t, but she’d started the whole thing, being the first to knock over the proverbial dominoes, and though Raelle had been invited to what would likely be the most momentous event in her life…she’d had someone else she needed to be with, and her unit understood. 

The Treatise, if everything passed, was to replace the Salem Accord. It was a comprehensive, spelled-out plan on slowly disbanding the witch military in favor of replacing it with civilian and witch voluntary National Guard, which would, itself, also be phased out over several stages and over decades, depending on how international negotiations went. It involved ending any and all proxy wars in the long run and if circumstances allowed, though Raelle was honestly skeptical about how well any of that would go. But the most important part of it all was the first few lines, and the most concrete and necessary part of the treatise.

“ _We, by whom the Salem Accords no longer speak, do so dually present that Conscription and other such forced participation in any and all institutions, be they magical or mortal, hereby and henceforth shall be held illegal and immoral, and will be struck from any and all accords, agreements, and other contracts between the United States government and any and all witch governances. It is nullified, and as such it is so decreed that all Witchkind be free from the obligation of Conscription of service of country, so it is written, so it shall be_ ”

Raelle had memorized the first paragraph while watching Tally and others write up the entire resolution.

There was no reason Wade wouldn’t sign it, but Raelle wouldn’t be able to breathe properly, and she knew that Scylla wouldn’t either, until that signature was on the page. 

With a few strokes of her pen, it was done, and President L. Wade held up the new Salem Treatise.

“It is law,” she said, and the room erupted into claps, Abigail and Tally hugging. 

She felt the breath leave Scylla: relief, leaden with years of pent up pain and fear, resentment and anger. 

“…fuck,” she muttered, and Raelle blinked, still shocked that, just like that…she was no longer obliged to be in the military. She was free.

 _They_ were free. 

The realization hit her like a punch, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. 

“Fuck,” she agreed, feeling the tension leave her.

Scylla turned in her arms. She was crying, tears sliding silently down her cheeks, and Raelle immediately released her from her grasp, coming around to the front of the couch and kneeling before Scylla – who was still leaned too far forward where she sat – and cupping her face. 

“Look what you’ve done,” she whispered, pride swelling within her, feeling her own tears welling in her eyes. 

“Look what _we’ve_ done,” Scylla whispered back, and Raelle kissed her, stroking her cheeks with her thumbs.

Scylla buried her face in the crook of Raelle’s neck, releasing a racking sob, pulling her in close, digging her fingers into Raelle’s back as she unleashed years of…everything. Raelle held her, threading her fingers in Scylla’s hair and bunching her shirt in her other hand, letting her own tears fall as she held Scylla close. 

She gently, smoothly stroked Scylla’s back as she whispered “I love you,” quietly into Scylla’s hair. Scylla nuzzled further into her neck but continued to cry, and Raelle held her tight. She tilted her head, repeating it again, over and over.

“I love you,”

And she did.

She really fucking did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in canon it was a corsage, but she had no reason to give Scylla a corsage, so in this case, it's a charm. Plus it just fit the narrative better. ;) Also...dem "I love you"s doe... 😭😭
> 
> Fun fact: Far From the Tree is a real cider from local brewery of the same name in Salem, MA. My old roommate was obsessed because they always have so many cider flavors. Earl Grey Cider was the last one I tried from them.
> 
> Alas, as far I know, Tia's does not actually serve Far Front the Tree. I haven't been there in a couple years, but last time I was there, I got an Angry Orchard Cider 😂 But Tia's is a real place, though their view of the harbor isn't the best.
> 
> Also though like...y'all got something in your eye?? Because I might...
> 
> Can you believe there's only one more chapter?? It's been a hell of a journey, I'm glad you've all come on it with me. It wasn't a perfect revolution, but it got the job done. It was effective, and I think after all that we've (and they've) been through...a little escapism of a peaceful revolution actually working is earned, and at least our bbs can breathe easy now.


	24. And Into Weary Bones We Sink, Like Anchors in the Sea. (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~And into weary bones we sink  
> like anchors in the sea.  
> We have fought long and hard my love,  
> and finally are free.~
> 
> Enjoy:

Sometimes, Scylla needed space. 

Not from Raelle specifically, but just…space. To exist. Outside of herself. Outside of the nightmares that still clawed at her. Outside of the darkness and the pain and the elation that made her head spin.

She still couldn’t believe it. Not really. It didn’t feel real. It’d been slightly more than two years since the Salem Treatise had become law. Six months since it had become enshrined as an Amendment in the Constitution. Yet she still sometimes awoke in a cold sweat, worrying their plan for revolution would fail, despite having already succeeded. 

Those were good nightmares. Stressful, but waking up to Raelle softly reminding her that it was all over, they had done it, they could breathe and they could relax…relief would wash over her. But, well…relax was debatable. But breathe – in that moment, with Raelle quietly reassuring her – that, she could do.

Sometimes, she still dreamt she was back in Cotton Mather. That everything after had been a fantasy, the result of a fever or induced sleep or some kind of psychotic break from the stress of enduring everything she’d had to endure. Those nightmares were a little worse, leaving her with headaches and a pang of hatred and defiance echoing in her chest. 

She had a therapist: at Anacostia’s insistence, she’d started seeing one a few months after President L. Wade had signed the Treatise. Now she was on her third. And despite knowing the whole point of a therapist was to help her, she rarely spoke to the woman. She seemed nice enough, but Scylla didn’t trust her. Through no fault of her own: Scylla had expended all of her trust well before she’d met the therapist. She was exhausted, tired of saying the same thing over and over and over, tired of having to relive memories that felt like cutting all of her skin open just to let herself bleed. Why should she, when she’d spent so long stitching herself up?

She knew it wasn’t the “right” way to cope, but what was the “right” way? She’d murdered thousands of people. She’d turned herself around, clawed her way out of the precipice of absolute darkness she’d been teetering on for so long. She’d found her way back, guided by the light of others. But the darkness still lived within her, and she had accepted that. She wasn’t a good person. But she had done good. She had helped bring about an end to a corrupt system. She had done what she could. 

Sometimes, it was enough. Other times, it wasn’t. There was still so much that had to be done. So many prejudices to fight. So many conflicts still arising that needed to be resolved, and she wanted to help and at the same time…she couldn’t. She was just one person, and she was exhausted. She had been for so long. She needed to rest, and to recover. To pump the brakes and to finally just…stop. To face everything, and to try to work through it. And Scylla had accepted it was always going to be a cycle: good days and bad days. Nothing her therapist told her would change her mind, and she almost resented the hour or so a week she spent in the woman’s office. She was free, damn it. She had better things to do.

Life after President L. Wade had signed the Treatise had been…crazy. With the military officially on a timeline to be entirely restructured and eventually abolished within a couple decades, and all of the Army’s dirty secrets coming out into the open, it of course eventually came out that Scylla Ramshorn wasn’t dead: that she’d never been executed. Never even arrived in the Caribbean. That she was, in fact, a very large part of the operation for liberation. 

She was hailed as a hero among some (and certainly not among others), for bringing about an end to conscription…but she wasn’t a hero. With even more time to reflect on her actions, they weighed even heavier on her than they had before. 

Thankfully, and by nothing short of a miracle, it never came out that she was the one who had committed the attack at the mall. Anacostia had quietly destroyed her records and thankfully, took the brunt of the responsibility for the revolution, which kept Scylla somewhat out of the spotlight. As such, she was allowed to go out in public: not as a fugitive, but a controversial figure nonetheless. And she refused to let Anacostia take all of the blame for the empathy bombs. That bit, after all, had been her idea.

Civilians, it turned out, didn’t take kindly to being forced to feel things they’d been ignoring, and they weren’t exactly pleased when they’d learned that’s what had happened to them. She’d stepped up to take responsibility when she saw how vehemently they tried to dog Anacostia for it all. Scylla had ended up being called to stand trial more than once for her part in it all, though she’d been acquitted rather quickly, from the overwhelmingly loud majority of people, civilians and witches alike, who had called for her release. While she had no doubt that some of the protests on her behalf were genuine…she had no doubt that the work in the bombs was still having its lingering effects: the memories of witches’ pain serving to keep the sentiments fresh in the minds of all who had been in the bombs’ range.

Eventually, she’d been able to drop out of the public eye when the bitter debate of “what she did was wrong, but it helped us face harsh truths” had died down. Still, she’d been made to sign a binding contract to never use such work against civilians again. Not that she would even be able to _do_ such work ever again: it had taken a lot out of her. She hadn’t allowed herself to rest, and it had all taken a toll that she could feel in her very bones. 

But she wasn’t going to tell them that. Let them fear her. 

She’d signed it, but with anger boiling in her heart. For so long she’d thought she had gotten it under control, but as she had to sign away a piece of herself to make civilians more comfortable, it felt all too much like bowing to her oppressors, and she could feel that hatred and ire echoing in her chest: a memory with teeth.

It didn’t feel fair, but she understood there was still residual fear. That empathy didn’t always stop things like irrational and entrenched anxiety of the unknown. She knew it wasn’t their fault, and she chose to believe that. After all, in their shoes, she would want the same guarantee. In fact, she had that guarantee: embedded in the Treatise was a clause about magical folk, and hate crimes. So she did it to shut them up, but sometimes, the anger still burned bright within her. 

Still, her signing meant that it was all dropped: she was allowed to leave with no more issues. She was able to wander down the street, free. It was truly crazy, to not have to pretend to be someone else, as she walked around Provincetown. Her neighbors weren’t too nosy, so that helped a lot. Most were natives to Massachusetts and so were…accustomed to witches. She knew that there were still whispers: she was a controversial figure, no matter what she did, and sometimes it weighed on her. But it was…nice, to not have to hide. To be able to just exist.

The nightmares started not long after the Treatise passed. She knew it was because she no longer had a cause: too spent to offer anything but encouraging words to those from the compound who took up the continuing fight for witch rights in her stead. But that slowing down of her energies…it meant she no longer had a reason to hold all of her trauma at bay, much as she may wish she could. 

Fires. Empty eyes of corpses, one thousand six hundred and twenty-four of them: judges, juries, executioners. And she was always in chains, on trial before them. On trial for her true sins, not her perceived ones. Water in her throat, flayed skin her hands as military police or Cotton Mather guards stared at her with gauged-out eyes, hangman’s nooses around their necks. Sometimes, she was falling in the mall, fear spiking so high in her veins that she would awaken with a strangled sob. 

Still, in others, Raelle stood before her, swathed in darkness and bleeding from every orifice, opening her mouth to scream, only for a blade to slice through her chest and for her to vomit blood in a waterfall. 

Those were the worst ones. She’d awaken in a cold sweat, violence and panic singing in her veins, ready to viscerally tear apart whoever dared to hurt Raelle. 

But they were always just nightmares, and Raelle would be fine, holding her close a moment later and whispering that she was fine, Raelle had her, she was fine.

Scylla wasn’t fine, and she hadn’t been for a long time, and they both knew that. But now…with all of the wars drawing to a close, with all witches free, with all of her actions of the past over, all of her justifications cast in stone and yet evaporated like smoke…she had time to process. 

She had time to process, and it absolutely sucked. 

She had nothing more to work towards, nothing to distract or hide that darkness…that void that still yawned within her, deep and dark and utterly broken. Everything she had done, had endured, caught up to her, and sometimes she needed a moment, a time, alone. 

Space.

The first time she’d found the solace of a deserted beach had been with her parents, when they’d made a brief stop at one called Labor in Pain. They’d camped out under the stars, and it had been the safest, and the smallest, that Scylla had ever felt. For the longest time, she’d had a shell from that beach. Her parents had noticed her love for it and ended up fashioning it into a small charm on a necklace for her.

The necklace had been lost at Fort Salem when they’d captured her. Left with her stuff that she knew she’d never get back. 

Provincetown was, thankfully, at the very tip of Cape Cod. In the dead of night, she could reach Race Point Beach in about half an hour by bike, the sea air tickling her skin. Outside of Provincetown proper, the stars were endless and the air was clear and the salt stung her lungs, and in those moments, she felt truly free. The wind whipped her hair on the beach, the waves crashing, and the sense of calm that overwhelmed her soothed her to her very core, quieting the chaos that had become normal to her. 

The ocean didn’t care about all that she’d done. The waves would crash well after she was dead, as they had before she was born and as they had while she’d endured everything she had. The sea had taken more lives than she ever could, and there was something comforting in watching such unbridled, angry beauty as it ravished the shore. Destruction and salvation, all in one, and Scylla felt an odd kinship with its dark depths and the pinpoints of light in the night sky above it: a void as vast as the one she felt inside of her.

She shut her eyes and turned her face up to the sky, clenching her jaw as she felt the now familiar sting of tears. 

She felt like she cried a lot now, and maybe that was a good thing, because she still remembered how she hadn’t cried after her parents were murdered right in front of her. She hadn’t cried despite everything: all the friends who disappeared, all of the found family that were arrested or killed by the military. Her parents. The blood she spilled. Porter. 

She supposed she’d be crying it out for a while, but it was fine. She needed it, and she knew that. 

Over all, though, life wasn’t all bad. She hadn’t lied, when she told Raelle she would spend the rest of her life trying to be better. And she was doing her damnest, and that counted for something. 

But she had bad days. Bad nights. Dark nights where she could still feel that old, angry turmoil within her. 

On those nights, she needed the quiet solitude of the beach.

The first time it’d happened, post-revolution, she’d felt her palm burn with a panicked urgency: Raelle. Scylla had flipped her palm to stare, surprised by the sensation. Usually, it didn’t feel like that, and she knew it was because Raelle had woken up to an empty bed at three in the morning. She nearly kicked herself for having left without even a note – stupidly thinking Raelle wouldn’t wake up before she was back – so she’d pressed hard onto their link and focused, trying to send Raelle her location the same way she had, all that time ago, on Raelle’s first day at the compound. 

It worked, Raelle coming to the beach, out of breath. She’d run the entire way.

Scylla received a rightful reaming out for having done that, and despite Raelle’s anger, fueled entirely by fear and love and panic, Scylla stood immediately and pulled her into a hug. She hadn’t meant to start sobbing into Raelle’s shoulder, but it had happened, and a bewildered Raelle sat with her until sunrise, when she’d found her voice. 

She knew Raelle wasn’t her therapist. But she had promised Raelle, back in those woods, that they wouldn’t have secrets between them. So she explained, and Raelle listened, and they sat on the beach despite the cold, despite Raelle shivering and Scylla too exhausted to even try a warming seed. 

She made sure to leave a note, every time after. Sometimes, Raelle would join her. Other times, she would ask in her note that Raelle leave her to herself, she just needed time. 

She knew Raelle understood, because she knew Raelle grappled with her own demons, tame as they seemed. She made sure to be there for Raelle when they got to her. She made sure to take care of Raelle in whatever way she could, whenever she could. 

Raelle’s unit helped. Tally and Abigail came by with some frequency, and while Scylla still wouldn’t dare say she felt close to either of them…she loved them, in her own way. Their relationship was…stilted. Awkward, but genuine. They recognized that she was at least partially responsible for their freedom, but they were all too aware of her sins. But she hadn’t hurt Raelle, and that seemed to be the biggest thing for them. For Abigail especially.

She’d also met Raelle’s father. They’d gone down for a visit once things had started settling down. Scylla still couldn’t help but breathe a little easier as soon as they stepped foot into the Cession, and she just couldn’t get over how Raelle always called Edwin “Pa” with an extra twang in her accent. It made Scylla melt. 

Edwin had been nothing but warm to Scylla, even going so far as to thank her for what she’d done, the part she’d played in freeing his daughter from the jaws of conscription, and Scylla had accepted his praise with a churning stomach. Raelle hadn’t told him – had known they shouldn’t tell him – what she had done, and she was simultaneously grateful for that, and ashamed of it. He had the right to know who his daughter was dating…

Scylla wasn’t under any illusions: she knew that if anyone knew, she would be hunted. The good will that had been built, however shakily, between civilians and witches would be spoiled upon learning that the woman responsible for the revolution had also been responsible for one of the worst attacks during war time. 

She also knew that all of these conflicting understandings and thoughts clashed within her, and could make her volatile: could tear at her consciousness and could make her moody beyond reason. She knew she wasn’t easy to love, and she knew that Raelle was a good person beyond comprehension and measure, and sometimes it ate at Scylla how much she didn’t deserve Raelle. 

Really, for the most part, Scylla tried not to concern herself about what she “deserved”, because honestly, life was an existence without rhyme or reason, dominated by chance and luck and circumstance, and largely unconcerned with what any one person “deserved.” But on her darkest of nights, she couldn’t help but question how Raelle could even love her, knowing all that she’d done.

But she was grateful for it. For the second chance. For the love she received from the embodiment of light and life itself. 

She didn’t want to question that, so she didn’t, except at her very worst. And she would claw herself out of that pit by remembering that Raelle’s love had no conditions. That Raelle saw her, all of her, and had chosen to love her anyway. To trust her when she had no reason to. To see the good in her when Scylla had only just started seeing it herself. 

She hadn’t told Raelle, but she would do anything for her. She would die for her. She would live for her. She would do anything Raelle asked, because Raelle brought out the best in her. Made her even better than she thought she could be: than she thought herself capable of being. 

For Raelle…she would well and truly do anything. 

That night, she needed space, yes, but she also didn’t actually want to be alone. She wanted to share her sanctuary with her girlfriend, and she ghosted her finger over her palm, careful not to touch it, lest she wake Raelle. She knew that Raelle always awoke on her own, once her subconscious mind realized she was in the bed alone. 

Sure enough, she heard the footfalls in the sand not long after, soft crunches nearly drowned out by the wind, and she smiled to herself. 

“Nightmares?” she heard Raelle’s tired voice ask from behind her, and she turned. Raelle rubbed sleep from her eyes, her bike tossed behind her in the sand, next to Scylla’s. After Scylla’s first time running away to the beach, they’d invested in a bike for Raelle. 

Scylla smiled a small, but loving, smile. “No, not tonight. Just felt too overwhelmed,” she said honestly, and Raelle plopped unceremoniously down on the sand next to her. Scylla basked in the warmth of her body, so close to her own. Raelle was in a grey sweatshirt, which was actually Scylla’s. 

But it was fine. Scylla had stolen Raelle’s navy blue one. 

Raelle scooted closer, looping her arm around Scylla and gently pulling her close. Scylla let her, happy to be led from her sitting position, Raelle straightening one of her legs as Scylla lowered her head onto the offered lap, turning to look up at the stars, Raelle the closest of them all. She smiled as Raelle leaned back on one hand to steady herself, using the one that had been on Scylla’s shoulder to start playing with the ends of her hair.

Scylla shut her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose. 

This…this was bliss. This was her safe space. The ocean waves crashing on the shore to her right. Raelle close to her. The night sky above her. All was quiet, not around her, but in her mind. She let herself sink into her body, into her being: no longer Scylla Ramshorn, the terrorist. Nor Scylla Ramshorn, the revolutionary. Not even Scylla Ramshorn, really. Just a being. Living. Breathing. 

Existing in a liminal space, beyond time and detached nearly entirely from the world. Isolated and tranquil. For just a moment, she could exist without memory, without thought.

The beach was her safe space, yes. But so was the woman she loved, allowing her to shut her eyes and to just exist as she wanted to, with no expectations and no need for explanations, in tune with her in a way that Scylla could feel in her very veins, all too aware of their connection, her palm warm. 

She gently fingered the necklace in her pocket. She’d been working on it ever since she’d found the shell on the beach, so reminiscent of the one on her necklace from Labor in Pain. She’d sat down right in the incoming tide a few seconds after she’d found it, and had wept quietly to herself for nearly three full hours. She’d cradled it close, the salt of her tears mixing with the salt of the ocean and the salt on the shell, and for a moment, she grieved that which for long she hadn’t allowed herself to: her parents. 

She didn’t believe in signs. She knew that the dead could only have very limited contact with the living, and often in unexpected ways, and only at expected times, when the barrier between worlds shifted and thinned. Samhain. But even then, death and life weren’t as straight-forward as a simple barrier. Chances were, the shell was just simply that: a shell, and she had gotten lucky. But the flood of memories, and the pang of pain that resounded in that deep chasm...it hit just the right frequency to pull forth tears she hadn’t properly cried for her parents, in nearly half a decade. And so she’d sat, and cried. And had held the shell close ever since. 

She’d fashioned the twine for the necklace herself, from the grass on the dunes, which she carefully harvested, observant of the signs telling of a fragile and endangered habitat. It took her a lot of reading about how to treat the grass, to strengthen and braid it into a sturdy string, and then it had taken her even longer to thread it all together to recreate the necklace, but she had. She had, and now she carried it everywhere with her, unsure what to do with it, but reluctant to wear it and unwilling to let it out of her sight. 

Scylla inhaled deeply through her nose and slowly opening her eyes, only to feel her breath catch in her throat. 

Raelle was looking down at her, with so much love and warmth in her eyes that it physically took Scylla’s breath away for a moment. Words, if she’d even been thinking of any, died in her throat at the sight of those clear blue eyes, so clearly and painfully honest, looking at her like she was all that was good in the world. 

It was a look similar to that, that had first made her properly see Raelle, way back near the end of her turn at Cotton Mather. During their goodbyes, Raelle had looked at her with an odd sort of fondness and sadness, and that had solidified Scylla’s resolve to truly bring about a revolution. To tear down the system. To right all of her wrongs. To do whatever it took to be the cause of a look like the one Raelle was giving her in that moment on the beach: to be deserving of a look like that. So pure and unabashed in its admiration, so full of truth and a profound sense of comfort. 

And there it was, and it was Raelle, and Raelle was looking at her like that, and suddenly Scylla forgot how to breathe. She forgot all of the words she had ever learned, every deed she had ever done, every nightmare she’d ever had, because nothing mattered, when she was being looked at like that. In that gaze was redemption: an existence she had never hoped to ever have. 

She could only hope that she made Raelle feel even a tenth of what Raelle made her feel. She could only keep trying, every day. And she would.

For the rest of her life, if Raelle would have her. 

She reached up with one hand, gently cupping Raelle’s cheek, and Raelle leaned into her touch, smiling and gently kissing her palm.

The words came before Scylla’s brain could fully recover from the sudden short-circuit that Raelle’s beauty had given her entire system. 

“I love you,” she said, and Raelle nuzzled her palm.

“I love you too, dork,” she smiled, and goddess, it was too much.

“Be mine,” Scylla whispered, almost in awe. 

Raelle’s brow furrowed, and she gave Scylla a slightly confused look. 

“What?”

Perhaps, in any other moment, Scylla would have slapped herself for asking such important words in such an unceremonious and odd way, but she was still too captivated by the beautiful human being before her, looking at her with confusion and adoration. 

Scylla stroked Raelle’s cheek as best she could, given the odd angle. “Be mine. Forever. In this life and maybe the next, if we may be so lucky,” she said it, with less mysticism and more confidence, feeling warmth blooming in her chest as she realized just how badly she wanted Raelle to say yes.

She was shocked to find she wasn’t even nervous. She felt so thoroughly at peace, safe in Raelle’s embrace, that asking the woman she loved to be hers, for the rest of their days, didn’t even feel like something scary. 

It just felt right.

Raelle looked surprised, and Scylla pulled her hand away from Raelle’s face, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the small necklace.

She knew that Raelle knew she’d been making it. Raelle had watched her, for weeks on end, trying to get the weaving of the twine right. Swearing to herself when she’d have to undo hours of work, or panicking when she put the shell down and couldn’t find it for a minute or two. Raelle never said anything about it, though Scylla had caught her curious look on more than one occasion. Scylla knew that Raelle could tell it was important, because Scylla didn’t usually spend so much time on something small like that. Even her skulls, which she continued to collect, didn’t take up as much of her time, precious as they were. 

But Raelle had never asked, so Scylla held it in her hands, looking at it clasped between her fingers as she whispered, “When I was younger, my parents made me a necklace like this. We found the shell on my favorite beach. It…meant a lot to me. I think it was the only piece of jewelry I ever owned,” she fidgeted with the shell. “That was the one time I’ve ever felt…normal. Like a regular kid, just camping on the beach with their parents, on a low-stakes adventure. It was one of the few places I’ve ever felt safe, in my entire life. It makes sense for you to have it: you’re that place, now.” 

She tilted her head back, looking away from the small shell to Raelle, who was looking at her with open curiosity. Scylla lifted the necklace, closer to Raelle, offering it to her. “You’ve always been that place, I think,”

She realized the words were true as soon as she’d said them. Because…it had always been Raelle. From the moment she’d walked into Cotton Mather, Scylla had forged a connection with her, however one-sided it had been at the start. Scylla had come to await a visit from Specialist Collar with baited breath, heart skipping a beat, ready and wanting and willing to engage with Raelle. To speak, and to be heard. 

And she hadn’t even really realized it. Not at first. 

And goddess, it didn’t even bother her that Raelle hadn’t even answered her yet. To be fair, she hadn’t asked a complete question, though she was fairly certain that Raelle knew what she was proposing. She’d honestly never foreseen a future in which she was in a committed, lifetime relationship like her parents. But now that she had Raelle – now that she knew what it was to be loved by her – she couldn’t see herself anywhere else but at Raelle’s side. And she would wait until the end of time, if that was what it took. Fuck, she really was in so deep…

Raelle untangled her fingers from Scylla’s hair, gently taking the offered necklace.

She looked down at Scylla, then. 

“Marry me,” Scylla said, voice soft. “And not for five years. Not for ten. Forever.”

Raelle looked at her, contemplative. “You’re serious?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

Scylla nodded and shrugged as best she could, given her position. “I love you, Raelle. Even if you say no, I’ll love you. I’ll love you until the end of my life, and then beyond it. I only just hope you’ll share this lifetime with me,” she said honestly. It felt like she was bearing her soul, but it wasn’t…it wasn’t scary. It just felt right, and the words were right, and she’d made peace with whatever the outcome was, because she would do anything for Raelle. Because in Raelle’s arms, she felt nothing but peace, the demons quieted by the steady rhythm of Raelle’s breaths and the harsh crash of the waves on the shore, the whistle of the wind around them in the early hours of the morning. 

Whatever happened, it would be okay, and that was a feeling that had her choking up, shocked to realize that she actually believed that. She actually believed that, and it was a hope she had thought had long ago died within her. 

But it was back, and it burned bright and she tilted her head back to get a better look at Raelle, who was looking at Scylla with such an odd expression, a mix of confusion and guarded surprise and even disbelief. 

“Scyl,” she said, swallowing. 

“You don’t have to answer now,” Scylla tried to be reassuring, but Raelle shook her head and laughed, the sound choppy as she swallowed thickly, tears starting to brim in her eyes. 

“Don’t be a dick, obviously I’m going to answer now,” she muttered, blinking. She went to unceremoniously wipe her tears with her sleeve, necklace still clutched gently in her grasp, but Scylla beat her to it, reaching up and tenderly wiping the droplets from Raelle’s cheeks. 

“Yes, Scyl,” she said finally. 

Scylla felt her heart hammer in her chest as she whispered, “Really?”

Raelle rolled her eyes but nodded, handing the necklace back to Scylla, which Scylla accepted with some confusion, raising her eyebrow. Raelle smiled warmly at her, “Put it on me?” 

Scylla sat up, turning in the sand to properly face Raelle, before doing just that, unclasping the necklace and, with surprisingly shaky fingers, fastening it around Raelle’s neck as Raelle pushed some of her hair out of the way. 

Raelle smiled when Scylla dropped her hands, her throat going dry at the sight before her. Raelle, hair windswept, braids with little fly aways stubbornly springing from them, cheeks rosy from the wind and eyes tired but alight, bright and blue and so full of life, happiness dancing in them as she smiled a toothy grin at Scylla. With her necklace, a small white shell between braids of twine, nestled right in the nook between her collarbones. It looked…perfect. She looked beautiful, and Scylla’s heart skipped a beat, realizing she’d just proposed. 

And Raelle had said yes.

She’d actually fucking said yes!

Elation rose in her chest as she felt her face split into a wide smile, and she beamed at Raelle, who laughed, leaning forward and kissing her. 

“Yes,” Raelle whispered into her lips. A promise. 

A future.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, our journey comes to a close. Scylla has hope that she long thought she would never have again. Raelle has a girlfriend (a fiance!) who brought about freedom for all witches from conscription: who chose to be better with her help. I think this is the ending that they deserve: a future that isn't bleak. That is hopeful. And most importantly: that is theirs.
> 
> Thank you to all who accompanied me on this wild, emotional, slow burn journey, I hope you have loved reading this fic (really, this series) as much as I loved writing it! I'm so happy I got to share it with you all. <3


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